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FOREST  AND  STREAM   BOOKS. 


Antelope  and  Deer  of  America,   By  John  Dean 

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UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP, 


LIFE   IN 
A    CORNER   OF   YANKEELAND. 


BY 

ROWLAND    E.  ROBINSON. 


NEW  YORK: 
FOREST    AND   STREAM   PUBLISHING   CO. 

1887. 


COPYRIGHTED,  1887, 
BY  FOREST  AND  STREAM   PUBLISHING  CO. 


THE  DANVIS  FOLK. 


THE  boundaries  of  the  township  of  Danvis  are  not  more 
clearly  defined  than  the  limits  of  the  county  of  Charlotte, 
in  which  it  is  situated.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  is  in  the 
State  of  Vermont,  backed  at  the  east  by  the  mountains  that 
gave  the  State  its  name,  and  shut  out  from  the  valley  of 
the  Champlain  by  outlying  spurs  of  the  same  range.  Thus 
fortified  against  the  march  of  improvement,  its  inhabitants 
longer  retained  the  primitive  manners,  speech,  and  customs 
of  the  earliest  settlers  of  Vermont  than  did  the  population 
of  the  lake  towns,  whose  intercourse  with  the  great  centres 
of  trade  and  culture  was  more  direct  and  frequent. 

It  is  all  changed  now  :  Danvis  has  daily  mails,  the  tele 
graph  almost  touches  its  border,  and  its  mountains  echo 
the  shrieks  of  locomotives  and  the  roar  of  railroad-trains. 
The  people,  generally,  wear  as  fine  and  modern  clothes  as 
any  country  folk,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  there  is  one 
adult  who  has  not  seen  something  of  the  bustle  and  life  of 
at  least  one  of  Vermont's  two  cities,  if  not  those  of  even 
greater  marts.  An  aristocracy  has  sprung  up,  and  people 
are  losing  the  neighborly  kindness  of  the  old  times  when 
none  were  rich  and  none  were  poor,  and  all  were  in  greater 
measure  dependent  on  each  other.  In  fact,  the  Danvis 
folk  are  no  better  now  than  their  lowland  neighbors,  who 
therefore  no  longer  despise  them. 

417632 


CONTENTS. 


I.  THE  SCHOOL  MEETING  IN  DISTRICT  13,     .       7 
II.  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SPRING  GUN,     ....        17 

III.  IN  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP, 29 

IV.  CONCERNING  OWLS, 34 

V.  UNCLE  LISHA'S  COURTING, 40 

VI.  How  ZENE    BURNHAM  COME    IT    ON    HIS 

FATHER, 48 

VII.  A  RAINY  DAY  IN  THE  SHOP, 54 

VIII.  THE  TURKEY  SHOOT  AT  HAMNER'S,    .     .        64 
IX.  SAM  LOVEL'S  THANKSGIVING.      ....     79 

X.  LITTLE  Sis, 91 

XI.  SAM  LOVEL'S  BEE-HUNTING,       ....   104 
XII.  IN  THE  SHOP  AGAIN, no 

XIII.  THE  Fox  HUNT, 116 

XIV.  NOAH  CHASE'S  DEER-HUNTING,     ...      125 
XV.  THE  HARD  EXPERIENCE  OF  MR.  ABIJAH 

JARVIS, 132 

XVI.  THE  COON  HUNT, 141 

XVII.   IN  THE  SUGAR  CAMP, 149 

XVIII.  INDIANS  IN  DANVIS,      .......      158 

XIX.  THE  BOY  OUT  WEST,          167 

XX.  BREAKING  UP, 172 

XXI.  THE  DEPARTURE, 180 

XXII.  THE  WILD  BEES'  SWARM, 185 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 


I. 

THE    SCHOOL   MEETING   IN   DISTRICT    13. 

FOR  a  week  before  the  first  Tuesday  in  the  April  of  a 
certain  year  half  a  lifetime  ago,  the  battered  door  of  the 
shabby  old  school-house  in  District  13  of  the  township  of 
Danvis  bore  a  conspicuous  patch  of  white  paper  among  its 
scratches,  bruises,  and  awkwardly  carved  initials.  Some 
wayfarers  knew  at  first  sight  what  this  early  spring  blossom 
ing  of  the  school-house  doer  heralded  ;  those  who  did  not 
or  hoped  that  it  might  advertise  a  "  slayth  o'  hand  show," 
or  "a  'stronermy  lectur',"  or  '*  temp'unce  meetin'," 
found  upon  examination  that  it  warned  the  "  legil  voters 
in  school  meeting  in  Dist.  13  in  the  town  of  Danvis  to 
mete  in  the  school  house  in  sd.  dist.  on  Tuesday  evening, 
Aperil  3,"  etc. 

Accordingly  on  the  evening  named  in  the  warning,  as 
the  dismal  landscape  of  the  season  grew  dim  in  the  twilight, 
the  little  building  was  illuminated  by  four  candles,  and  the 
cracked,  Crusty  stove  glowed  with  fervent  heat,  for  the  com 
mittee  and  the  "  deestrick  dark"  had  not  been  negligent 
of  their  duty,  and  having  lighted  the  candles  and  the  fire, 
now  sat  gazing  thoughtfully,  or  with  absence  of  thought, 
at  the  stove  while  they  waited  the  coming  of  their  neigh 
bors.  Presently,  announcing  their  arrival  with  more  than 


1  '  17N£L£  '  1 1  Sit  A '  S   SHOP. 

needful  stamping  and  scraping  of  boots,  there  entered 
nearly  all  the  legal  voters  of  the  district  and  almost  as 
many  boys,  for  without  the  presence  of  this  non-voting  but 
not  altogether  silent  element,  no  school  meeting  had  ever 
yet  been  held  in  District  13.  Uncle  Lisha  Peggs,  the 
cordwainer,  was  there,  and  Solon  Briggs,  the  man  of  big  if 
not  weighty  words,  and  Joseph  Hill,  and  his  aged  sire 
whom  Ethan  Allen  had  assisted  in  the  capture  of  Ticon- 
deroga,  and  who  had  fought  at  Hubbardton  and  Benning- 
ton,  and  had  ever  since  been  ready  to  take  a  hand  in  any 
fight,  whether  of  words  or  deeds.  There  were  also  present 
Samuel  Lovel,  the  hunter,  and  his  companion  Drive,  the 
hound,  who  took  now  no  active  part  in  the  proceedings, 
but  got  himself  under  the  stove  and  toasted  his  gaunt  ribs 
with  exceeding  comfort  while  he  bided  his  time.  Loud 
and  forthputting,  there  was  Beri  Burton,  an  uncouth  giant, 
who  had  not  long  been  a  resident,  having  moved  into  the 
township  from  no  one  knew  where,  and  who  had  the  air  of 
being  burdened  with  a  grievance  and  the  malodor  of 
"  spilin'  for  a  fight."  Gran'ther  Hill  set  his  toothless 
jaws  as  he  rested  his  chin  upon  his  cane,  and  glowered  at 
him  as  he  could  not  have  done  more  savagely  at  his  ancient 
bitterest  enemies,  the  Tories  and  Indians.  Antoine  Bas- 
sette,  the  Canadian,  attended  the  meeting,  not  a  voter,  but 
interested  as  a  furnisher  of  scholars,  for  every  year  was 
added  one  more  black-polled,  bare- footed  toddler  to  his 
dusky  brood  that  came  jabbering  along  the  dusty  summer 
road  to  the  old  school- house. 

Joel  Bartlett,  "  clark  of  the  deestrick, "  was  a  staid 
Quaker,  whose  mouth  was  made  up  for  a  whistle  that  the 
strictness  of  his  religious  views  had  never  permitted  him  to 
utter,  and  he  wore  a  wide-brimmed  hat  always  abroad  and 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  9 

much  at  home,  and  almost  as  constantly  as  this  and  the 
pucker  of  his  lips,  a  coat  supposed  to  be  somewhat  like 
that  of  George  Fox,  the  founder  of  his  sect.  "  Sammule, " 
he  said,  when  alter  sitting  some  time  in  silence  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  hound's  yelping  and  pawing  the  air 
in  pursuit  of  a  shadowy  fox  on  the  hills  of  dreamland, 
"  thy  dawg  appears  kind  'er  lanky,  's  'ough  he  hedn't 
wintered  fust-rate.  Thee  feeds  him,  I  hope  ?' ' 

"  Feed  'im  !"  said  Sam,  indignant  at  such  an  imputa 
tion  on  his  treatment  of  his  friend.  "The'  hain't  a  day 
goes  over  Drives's  head  'at  he  don't  hev  a  johnny-cake 
baked  for  'im,  an'  he  gits  it,  too.  The  trouble  with  Drive 
is,  he's  ben  a  preachin'  raound  hum  all  winter,  a  prophet 
'thaout  honor  in  his  own  country,  ye  know,  an'  not  much 
profit  to  his  marster.  Mebby  you've  hearn  him  holdin' 
forth  on  Havvgs  Back  an'  laound.  He's  got  kinder  thin 
duin'  so  much  for  so  little,  for  he  ain't  no  hirelin'  minis 
ter,  an'  don't  git  nothin'  but  his  board  for  his  sarvices. 
Tow-ward  the  latter  eend  o'  nex'  month,  Fif  month,  I'm 
a  goin'  to  start  him  off  for  yearly  meetin',  to  New  York  or 
Newport,  an'  if  he  don't  fat  up  there,  I'm  a  goin'  to  git 
him  recommended,  an'  hev  'im  git  a  consarn  to  go  on  a 
visit  to  Friends  to  the  east'ard.  Ef  that  don't  git  'im  in 
good  trim,  I'll  disown  'im,  for  he  can't  'predate  blessin's, 
an'  hain't  fit  to  be  a  member  'mong  Friends." 

"  Wai,  Sammule,"  said  Joel,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes, 
"  if  thy  dawg  has  ben  a  preachin'  anything  weighty,  I'm 
af eared  his  marster' s  ears  hes  been  closed,  an'  I  think  he 
better  continner  a  sowin'  the  seed  to  hum,  an'  if  the 
graound  is  barrern  keep  a  harrerin'  of  it  in." 

The  men  laughed,  and  the  boys  snickered  in  the  dark 
corners,  and  Joel,  rising  and  looking  around,  said,  "  I 


io  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

think  everybody  is  present  'at's  'xpected,  an*  perhaps  the 
meetin'  might  as  well  becalled  t'  odder.  Friends  'il 
please  come  t'  odder.  " 

All  but  himself  took  off  their  hats,  and  the  vvhish  of  the 
boys'  whispering  ceased  while  he  slowly  read  the  warning, 
stooping  to  the  nearest  candle  while  he  followed  his  fore 
finger  along  the  lines.  This  ended,  he  said,  "  The  fust 
thing  is  to  choose  a  mawdrator.  Will  some  friend  please 
nomernate  ?" 

"  I  nomernate  Solon  Briggs, "  said  Sam  Lovel,  promptly, 
and  "  I  secont  the  motion,"  some  one  else  said  as 
promptly.  Then  Joel  proclaimed  that  Solon  Briggs  was 
"  nomernated  and  seconted  as  mawdrator,  an'  them  'at 
favors  him  will  say  aye,"  and  there  was  a  small  thunder  of 
ayes. 

"The  contrayry-minded  will  say  no,"  and  only  Beri 
Burton  growled  no. 

' '  You  hev  made  chice  of  Solon  Briggs  to  sarve  you  as 
mawdrator,"  Joel  announced,  and  Solon  took  his  seat 
beside  the  clerk. 

"  In  consumin'  this  persition,"  he  said,  slowly  rising, 
and  as  slowly  grinding  his  palms  together,  "  to  which  I 
was  chose  unomynous  without  only  one  disseminatin' 
voice,  I  du  it  a  hopesin'  'at  this  meetin'  will  cornduck 
itself  becomin'  an'  harmonous  an'  proprietory  ;  an'  that 
them  'at  is  in  the  mynority  will  feel  as  content  to  be  mi- 
noritorious  as  them  'at  is  in  the  may-jority  will  be  to  be 
majoritorious.  An'  we  will  naow  perceed  to  transack  busi 
ness.  The  fust  thing  on  the  progerammy  is  to  eleck  a 
dark.  Please  nomernate  a  dark." 

"  I  guess,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  scraping  the -wax  off  his 
left  thumb  with  the  nail  of  his  right  forefinger,  and  rolling 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  II 

it  into  pellets  which  he  dropped  upon  the  floor,  "  I  guess 
'at  we'd  better  hev  Joel.  He's  taown  dark  an'  dark  of 
his  meetin',  an'  ben  deestrick  dark  this  ever  so  long, 
an'  so  he's  got  uster  bein'  dark.  1  nomernate  Joel." 
Joel's  nomination  was  seconded,  and  he  was  elected. 

"The  nex'  thing,"  said  Solon,  "on  the  progerammy 
— or  things — is  a  committee,  one,  tu,  or  three,  to  sarve  as 
committee  for  the  pursuin'  year." 

"  Bein'  'at  the'  's  some,"  said  Joseph  Hill,  propping 
himself  into  a  half-standing  position  with  his  hands  on  the 
desks  each  side  of  him,  "  'at  thinks  we'd  better  not  go  t' 
the  expense  o'  hirin'  of  a  man,  but  better  kinder  git  along 
wi'  a  woman  teacher  this  summer,  an'  the'  's  some  'at 
don't,  perhaps  we'd  better  hev  a  committee  'at  does  or 
don't  think  so.  F'  my  part,  I  d'  know  's  it  makes  much 
diffunce  to  me.  I  sh'ld  like  to  hev  a  good  teacher  cheap, 
or  a  cheap  teacher,  an'  hev  him — her— it — a  good  one. 
I  d'  know  's  I  care  much  which  sect  the  teacher  is.  I  move 
't  we  hev  a  man — or  a  womern. " 

"  We  do'  wan'  no  school- mom  !"  roared  Beri  Burton  ; 
"  Gol  dum  school-mom  !" 

"  Afore  we  go  any  furder,"  said  Joel  Bartlett,  rising  and 
laying  aside  his  hat,  ' '  I  feel  it  borne  in  upon  me  to 
caution  friends  agin  givin'  away  to  their  passions,  an'  to 
try  an'  conduck  themselves  with  proper  regard  o'  one 
'nother's  feelin's.  Bein'  'at  we  haint  all  o'  one  mind,  we 
can't  expeck  to  be  all  on  us  suited  ;  an'  them  'at  haint 
mus'  try  an'  bear  their  disapp'intment,  an'  them  'at  is 
mus'  try  an'  not  kerry  'emselves  too  high-headed."  As 
he  went  on  he  unwittingly  set  his  words  to  the  dolorous 
tune  to  which  the  movings  of  his  spirit  went  forth  to  those 
of  his  own  belief  on  First-day  and  Fifth-day  meetings. 


12  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

"  An',  beloved  friends,  we  must  all  on  us,  them  'at  is  up 
an'  them  'at  is  daovvn,  indivor  for  to — ah — be  charitable 
an'  kind  an'  forgivin',  one  untu  another.  A  speakin'  for 
myself,  I  can  say  that  I  think  a  suitable  young  womern 
'ould  arnswer  aour  purpose  very  well  for  the  summer,  as 
well  as  bein'  more  equinomical — " 

"  Thar  !"  cried  Beri  Burton,  springing  up  like  a  gigan 
tic  jack-in-a-box,  and  mumbling  his  words  as  if  they  were 
so  many  hot  potatoes,  "  thar,  Misser  Bartlutt,  we  do'  wan' 
hear  no  more  your  dum  blob  ;  we  do'  wan'  no  school- 
mom,  I  tell  ye.  Had  un  las'  summer,  didn't  us,  an'  what 
kin'  er  teacher  was  her  ?  Why,  noons  an'  art'  school,  an' 
boys  aout  an'  gals  aout  fo'noon  an'  art'noon,  the'  was  a 
feller — won't  call  no  names — 'at  uster  come  to  school- 
haouse,  'n'  him  an'  school  mom  'Id  go  daown  inter 
medder  strawberrin'.  School-mom  'Id  rub  strawbers  on 
'er  cheeks  an'  that  'ere  feller  'Id  buss  'em  off  !  Gol  dum 
such  school-mom  !  Then  'ey  'd  come  up  ter  school- 
haouse,  an'  that  'ere  feller  'Id  git  a  board  an'  run  it 
through  the  fence,  an'  school-mom  'Id  git  ont'  one  end 
on  't  an'  he'd  get  ont'  tother,  an'  then  they'd  go  teeter- 
tavvter,  teeter-tawter  !  Gol  dum  such  school-mom.  Do' 
wan'  no  more  on  'em  !" 

"  Ef  I  could  on'y  a  hed  that  'ere  big  heathin  a  front  on 
me  to  Hubbar'ton  or  Bennin'ton, "  said  Gran'ther  Hill  in 
a  hoarse,  whistling  voice,  "  a-painted  an'  feathered,  er 
dressed  up  in  a  red  cut,  he  wouldn't  a-ben  a-troublin'  'on 
us  to-night,  he  wouldn't." 

"  Ef  I'd  ha'  knowed, "  retorted  Beri,  "'at  this  was  a 
goin'  to  be  a  resurruction,  stiddy  a  reg'lar  school  meetin', 
I'd  ha'  tooted  up  some  o'  my  fo' fathers,  or  dug  'em  up, 
an'  brung  'em  along  to  vote  agin  ye,  ye  ol'  onburied  cuss. " 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP,  13 

"  Odder  I     Odder  !"  called  Solon. 

"  Forefathers  !"  sneered  Sam  Lovel.  "  Ye  never  hed 
none,  V  'f  ye  hed  the'y  be  'shamed  o'  yer  com'p'ny.  I 
say  odder,  tu.  He's  same  's  a  skeeter  to  me.  I  don't 
care  nothin'  'baout  his  bitin',  but  I  do  hate  his  cussed 
yowlin'." 

"Jozeff!"  commanded  the  ancient  warrior,  "you 
kinder  stiddy  me  on  my  laigs  so  's  't  I  c'n  run  my  cane 
through  that  Hessian's  in'ards  !  ' 

"  Wai,  naow,  no,  father,  I  guess  I  wouldn't,  not  'f  I 
was  you,"  said  his  peaceable-minded  son,  "  seem  's  'ough 
I  wouldn't.  'F  you  sh'ld  kill  him,  you'd  git  hung,  'n* 
that  'ould  be  turrible  disgraceful  for  a  man  o'  your  years, 
an'  one  'at's  hed  such  'scapes  from  Ticonderoge  an' 
Hubbar'ton  an'  Bennin'ton.  An'  if  you  didn't,  he  might 
lick  both  on  us,  for  I  haintsospry  's  I  was,  an'  that  would 
be  turrible  onpleasant  for  us  an'  turrible  gratyfyin'  for  him. 
I  haint  no  mind  to  give  him  no  sech  satyfaction. " 

"  Bah  gosh  !"  screamed  Antoine,  springing  to  his  feet 
and  dashing  his  tasselled  woollen  cap  upon  the  floor, 
"  Ah' 11  mek  it  notion  we  ant  have  it  no  school,  'f  'e  can' 
have  itaout  all  a  tarn  quarly,  quarly  !  Ah' 11  mek  it  notion 
we  ant  have  it  no  school,  me  !" 

"Odder!  Odder!"  Solon  shouted,  in  a  stern  voice, 
"  you're  aouten  odder,  Antwine." 

"  What  for  Ah'm  aout  norder,  M'sieu  Brigg,  hein  ?" 

"  Why,  Antwine,  you  haint  a  legle  voter  in  school 
meetin',  ye  see,  don't  ye?  It  'ould  be  a  diabolishment 
of  parloramentary  rules  to  'low  you  to  vote  or  speak.  Ye 
haint  never  ben  nat'ralized,  ye  know." 

"Wai,  Ah  don'  care  'f  Ah  don'  nat'ral  lie,  so  much 
you  do.  Ah' 11  show  you  jes'  many  chillun  for  go  school 


14  UNCLE   LISIfA'S   SHOP. 

anyboddee,  bah  gosh  !  More  of  it  all  a  tarn,  evree  year, 
evree  year.  Ah  guess  Ahm's  more  norder  you  was,  M'sieu 
Brigg.  You  be  marree  more  as  Ah  was,  an'  don'  have  it 
on'y  but  one  chillun,  bah  gosh  !"  and  Antoine  graspedj 
the  seat  of  his  baggy  trousers  with  both  hands  preparatory 
to  jumping  upon  his  cap. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  1"  Lisha  roared  in  a  voice  that 
made  the  cracked  window-panes  jingle,  and  brought  down 
some  crumbs  of  plastering  from  the  ceiling.  "  What's 
the  motter  ails  ye,  all  on  ye  ?  We  never  hed  no  sech 
cussed 'works  afore  to  a  school-meetin'  sen  I  was  ol'  'nough 
to  go  to  one  !  Ann  Twine  !  You  seddown  an'  shet  up 
yer  dum  Canuck  head  !  What's  the  motter  ails  ye  ?" 

"  It  all  comes,"  said  Solon,  "  o'  hevin'  this  'ere  imported 
disturbin'  elephunt  in  aour  midst  of  us,  which  we  didn't 
uster  hev  it  prevariously  before  last  year." 

What  might  then  have  happened  if  something  else  had 
not  presently  happened  will  never  be  known. 

The  men  were  growing  angrier,  and  the  repeated  calls 
to  order  by  the  moderator,  the  loud  voices  and  warlike 
demonstrations  of  their  elders  had  hushed  the  boys  in  the 
back  seats  to  such  silence  as  their  exuberant  spirits  had 
seldom  known.  Pelatiah  Gove  was  the  biggest  of  them, 
and  having  ciphered  to  the  rule  of  three,  was,  therefore, 
unless  he  chose  to  make  his  painful  way  farther  up  the  hill 
of  learning  toward  the  temple  of  science  pictured  on  the 
first  page  of  the  spelling-book,  to  be  considered  a  graduate 
of  the  district  school.  He  was  old  enough  to  begin  to 
think  of  the  past,  but  whether  with  any  longing  to  recall 
it  perhaps  he  could  not  himself  quite  tell.  He  sat  in  his 
old  seat  by  the  window,  vainly  trying  to  accommodate  his 
longer  grown  legs  to  their  old  position,  and  studying  the 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  15 

initials  and  unmeaning  devices  his  jack-knife  hid  carved  in 
the  noontimes  and  stolen  moments  of  past  winters.  He 
contrasted  the  present  turbulent  sounds  with  the  drowsy 
buzz  of  the  flies  on  the  windows  in  the  summer  days  when 
he  so  longed  to  go  a-fishing  in  the  brook  that  shot  its  tanta 
lizing  glints  through  the  stems  and  shadows  of  the  alders, 
and  he  turned  his  head  to  the  window  and  looked  toward 
the  brook  in  a  dreamy  way.  There  seemed  not  much  in 
that  direction  now  to  tempt  one  away  from  the  warmth  of 
the  school-house,  only  that  its  atmosphere  was  becoming  a 
little  too  warm,  and  if  there  was  really  to  be  what  Pelatiah 
called  "  a  reg'lar  carummux,"  he,  being  a  lover  of  peace, 
would  rather  not  be  present. 

But  something  caught  his  abstracted  gaze.  He  rubbed 
the  dusty  pane  and  put  a  hollowed  hand  on  either  side  of 
his  face,  and,  looking  intently,  counted  one,  two,  three, 
four  dark  objects  moving  slowly  across  the  dingy  snow  and 
dun  dead  grass  of  the  fields,  revealed  with  dim  distinctness 
in  the  clouded  moonlight.  After  a  long  look — though  it 
was  only  a  minute — to  verify  his  first  suspicion,  he  jumped 
to  his  feet,  in  his  tangled  haste  almost  tearing  the  desk 
from  its  place,  shouting  : 

'  'Coons  !  'coons  !  four  on  'em  a-crossin'  the  road  ! 
Come  on,  all  on  ye  !  Here,  Drive,  sic  'em  !"  and  made 
a  dash  for  the  door,  shouting  as  he  went,  and  emphasizing 
his  calls  with  the  thump  !  thump  !  of  his  heavy  boots. 
'  'Coons  !  come,  Drive  !"  and  Drive  came  suddenly  out 
of  dreamland  and  shot  through  the  open  door  in  hot  eager 
ness  for  game  more  tangible  than  the  phantoms  of  his 
sleep. 

Pelatiah  and  the  hound  were  followed  in  a  mad  rush  by 
every  one  but  the  moderator  and  the  clerk.  These  two 


1 6  UNCLE    LISHA'S   SHOP. 

stood  aghast  at  the  sudden  breaking  up  of  the  meeting, 
and  as  Solon  heard  the  shouts  of  the  men  and  boys,  and 
the  baying  of  the  deep-voiced  hound  coming  fainter  and 
fainter  as  they  sped  across  the  fields  in  pursuit  of  their 
quarry,  he  said,  turning  to  his  unmoved  colleague,  "  The 
quorum  has  absquaterlated,  an'  I  pernounce  this  meetin' 
is  a-journed,  Simon  Dyer  !" 

And  so  he  and  Joel  put  out  the  lights  and  made  the  fire 
safe,  and  themselves  went  out.  As  they  paused  listening 
on  the  doorstep,  with  a  human  curiosity  that  neither  the 
dignity  of  office  nor  the  precepts  of  a  stern  religion  could 
quite  restrain,  the  voices  of  the  men  and  boys  of  the  pur 
suing  party  were  hushed,  and,  there  was  heard  only  the 
steady,  insisting  baying  of  the  hound,  now  evidently  not 
moving  any  farther  away,  nor  moving  at  all. 

"  I  ruther  guess,"  said  Joel,  with  his  best  ear  turned 
toward  the  sound,  and  his  mouth  more  tightly  puckered  for 
the  unvoiced  whistle,  "  I  ruther  guess  the  dawg  has  treed 
'em,  onless  he's  preachin'  to  Sammule.  Don't  thee  think 
we'd  better  go  an'  see,  Solon  ?" 


II. 


UNCLE  LISHA  PEGGS  was  the  owner  of  a  small  farm  lying 
so  near  the  Green  Mountains  that  his  wood-lot  was  on  a 
westering  slope  of  one  of  their  spurs,  and  the  "  black 
growth"  of  balsam  and  spruce  crept  down  to  the  upper 
edge  of  the  sugar-bush.  His  acres  were  too  few  to  keep 
him  steadily  employed  in  their  tillage,  and  so,  in  slack 
times,  as  well  as  in  evenings  and  rainy  days,  he  mended 
the  boots  and  shoes  of  his  neighbors,  and  was  sometimes 
persuaded,  as  a  special  favor,  to  exercise  the  craft  to  the 
extent  of  building  a  pair  of  leathern  conveniences.  These 
productions  could  not  be  praised  for  their  beauty,  for  the 
builder  did  not  hold  greatly  to  snug  fits.  If  the  sole  of  the 
wearer's  foot  set  fairly  on  the  inner  sole  of  the  boot  and 
there  were  two  or  three  points  of  contact  with  the  uppers, 
his  ideal  of  a  perfect  fit  was  realized. 

He  "  'callated  his  stcgies  'ould  turn  water  like  a  cab 
bage-leaf  if  you  gin  'em  a  dost  o'  taller  or  mushrat  ile  onct 
a  week,  an'  wear  julluk  iron,  an'  when  a  feller  onct  got 
'em  broke  they  sot  drerne  easy" — all  of  which  was  true, 
and  especially  the  dreadfulness  of  the  easiness. 

One  Sunday,  late  in  summer  ;ine,  when  the  sun  shone 
hot  from  a  brassy  sky  through  a  smoky  haze  that  blurred  the 
shadows'  edges,  and  the  grass  was  slippery  with  drought, 
and  the  locust  gave  voice  to  the  parching  heat,  Uncle  Lisha 


1 8  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

had  performed  the  duty  of  church  attendance,  smoothing 
his  way  through  it  with  a  comfortable  nap,  and  had  eaten 
his  Sunday  dinner.  He  was  now  taking  another  *nap  in 
his  "  Windsor  chair,"  a  tilt  on  the  stoop,  his  head  and  face 
smotheringly  protected  from  the  flies  by  the  broad  "  ben- 
dinah  hankercher,"  used  only  on  Sundays,  at  weddings, 
funerals  and  county  fairs.  At  last  an  exploring  fly  found 
his  way  under  the  edge  of  this  expanse  of  dotted  red  silk, 
and  got  so  far  on  his  tour  of  discovery  as  the  entrance  of 
one  of  the  caverns  in  the  mountain  of  Lisha's  nose,  into 
which  he  was  suddenly  drawn  by  a  sort  of  whirlwind, 
whereupon  ensued  a  commotion  which  must  have  seemed 
to  him  at  least  an  earthquake  or  a  tornado.  He  was  cast 
forth  by  a  tremendous  blast,  the  silken  canopy  was  blown 
away,  the  chair  came  down  on  its  forelegs  with  a  ban?:  that 
awakened  Aunt  Jerusha  on  her  decorous  patchwork  couch 
in  the  darkened  bedroom,  the  cat  from  her  siesta,  and  set 
the  fowls  to  cackling. 

Of  course  Uncle  Lisha  was  broad  awake,  and  looking  in 
to  tell  Aunt  Jerusha  that  "  the  darn' d  flies  wouldn't  let  a 
feller  sleep,  an'  he  guessed  he'd  gwup  an'  see  how  the  corn 
looked,"  rammed  the  bandana  into  the  chamber  of  his 
bell-crowned  beaver,  as  if  loading  a  cannon,  and  then 
putting  his  head  in  for  a  ball,  held  across  lots  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  his  Sunday  boots  creaking  soberly  among  the  fad 
ing  daisies  of  the  pasture,  and  clattering  against  them  a 
jerky  tattoo.  He  forded,  dry-footed,  Stony  Brook,  now 
more  stony  than  watery,  and  went  through  the  corner  of 
the  sugar-bush,  where  the  giant  trees  were  healing  their 
spring  wounds  in  the  summer  sunshine,  and  past  the  silent 
shanty  hovering  its  sap  tubs  and  the  upturned  potash  kettle, 
with  squirrels  and  mice  for  housekeepers  at  this  season. 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  19 

Beside  this  lay  the  two  acres  of  corn,  the  long  leaves 
rolled  by  the  heat  into  slender  spikes,  making  the  rows 
indeed  "  spiky  ranks  of  maize,"  between  which  the  pump 
kins  trailed  their  dark  vines  overhung  by  their  own  droop 
ing  leaves,  pigeon  grass  and  rag-weed,  with  here  and  there 
a  yellowing  globe  shining  through  the  rank  growth,  but 
not  yet  so  bright  as  the  golden  chalices  of  late  blossoms 
out  of  which  the  bees  were  drinking  honey.  The  pollen 
of  the  tassels  powdered  the  leaves,  and  the  fray  of  silk  at 
the  end  of  the  ears  was  turning  from  pale  green  to  brown, 
showing  that  the  kernels  were  set  and  well  on  in  the  milk 
and  would  soon  begin  to  glaze  in  the  furnace  of  August. 
In  spite  of  the  dry  weather,  the  promise  of  a  crop  was  very 
comforting  to  Uncle  Lisha,  till  as  he  wandered  through 
the  rustling  rows  he  came  to  the  upper  edge  of  the  field 
nearest  the  dark  woods,  so  near  that  their  balsamic  odors 
spiced  the  cloying  sweetness  of  the  corn-blossoms. 

Here  had  been  havoc.  Stalks  were  torn  and  trampled 
down,  ears  stripped  and  munched  and  trodden  into  the 
earth  as  if  a  herd  of  swine  had  been  at  large  among  them. 
'  'Coons  !"  cried  Uncle  Lisha,  as  at  first  he  stood 
aghast.  "  Darn'd  if  I  don't  get  Sam  Lovel  to  come  up 
here  with  his  hound  to-night  ! — no,  to-morrer  night." 

Then  as  his  eye  caught  in  the  mellow  soil  the  imprint 
of  a  clawed  foot  as  big  as  his  hand,  he  started  with  some 
thing  like  alarm.  "Good  airth  and  seas!  it's  a  cussed 
bear!  Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  plucked  a  tuft  of  long  dark 
fur  from  the  thorns  of  a  blackberry  by  the  fence,  "  it's  a 
cussed  bear  !'"  Then,  as  he  remembered  the  day,  he 
apologized  to  his  Sunday  clothes — "  Wall,  he  is  a  cussed 
bear!  Why  couldn't  he  a'  eat  blackberries,  'stead  a 
spilin'  ten  bushels  o'  corn.  Dutten  corn,  tew,  none  o' 


20  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP, 

your  nasty  Tucket!  Gol  darn  'im,  I'll  set  a  spring  gun 
for  him  to-night — no,  to-morrer  night!"  And  he  set  his 
face  homeward,  full  of  wrath  and  news,  bearing  in  his 
hands  a  tuft  of  bear's  fur  and  a  munched  ear  of  corn,  in 
proof  of  the  righteousness  of  the  one  and  the  truth  of  the 
other. 

Monday  forenoon  was  spent  by  him  in  warning  his 
neighbors  that  he  was  about  to  set  a  spring  gun,  so  that 
coon  hunters  and  cross-lot  travellers  might  not  run  into 
danger  in  his  cornfield  ;  and  the  afternoon  was  devoted  to 
rigging  the  deadly  contrivance. 

First  he  loaded  his  ancient  piece,  which  when  set  upright 
was  taller  than  himself,  with  the  old  military  charge,  a  ball 
and  three  buckshot  on  top  of  half  his  palmful  of  powder  ; 
then  bearing  the  gun  and  his  axe  to  the  edge  of  the  corn 
field,  he  cut  two  stout  stakes  three  feet  long,  which  he 
drove  into  the  ground  about  four  feet  apart,  and  then  split 
the  tops  downward  far  enough  to  allow  the  gripe  of  the 
gun  to  be  forced  into  the  cleft  of  the  first  and  the  barrel 
into  that  of  the  second,  so  that  the  line  of  fire  should  be 
according  to  established  rule — "at  the  hayth  of  the  out 
side  bone  of  a  feller's  knee."  Close  to  and  opposite  the 
lock  he  drove  another  stake,  on  top  of  which  he  fixed  a 
short  lever  with  one  end  resting  against  the  front  of  the 
trigger.  To  the  other  end,  when  the  work  was  completed, 
was  attached  a  line  of  elm  bark,  rubbed  with  earth  to  dull 
its  too  conspicuous  whiteness  and  stretching  out  sixty  or 
seventy  feet  beyond  the  gun  muzzle,  running  at  intervals 
through  cleft  stakes,  wedged  to  keep  them  from  pinching  it. 

When  Uncle  Lisha's  task  was  done,  and  he  straightened 
his  long  bent  back  with  his  palms  and  gave  a  last  critical 
look  at  his  infernal  machine,  he  could  see  no  reason  why 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  21 

it  should  not  do  its  deadly  work  if  the  bear  would  do  his 
part.  So  toward  sundown  he  primed  the  gun  and,  setting 
it  at  full  cock,  left  it  to  guard  the  cornfield.  Hoping  to 
get  a  booming  report  that  should  tell  of  the  death  of  the 
spoiler,  he  hardly  got  into  his  accustomed  heavy  sleep  till 
midnight,  but  was  not  awakened  from  it  by  any  sound  till 
cockcrow. 

Then,  when  the  rayless  sun  was  rising  like  a  red  moon 
above  the  ridge  cf  the  mountain,  he  went  to  the  cornfield 
and  found  everything  undisturbed,  no  more  corn  destroyed, 
and  the  old  gun  asleep  with  beads  of  dew  on  its  rusty 
barrel.  He  made  it  harmless  for  the  day  by  brushing  the 
priming  out  of  the  pan  and  setting  it  at  half-cock. 

"  Las'  night  want  his  night,"  he  said,  "  but  he'll  come 
to-night,  see  'f  he  don't  !"  and  went  home. 

Toward  nightfall  he  put  the  spring  gun  on  guard  again. 
As  in  the  gloaming  he  leaned  over  the  "  do' yard  "  fence, 
smoking  a  meditative  pipe,  with  his  eastern  ear  uncon 
sciously  cocked  toward  the  cornfield,  he  became  aware  of 
an  intermittent  glow  a  furlong  down  the  lonely  road  that 
outshone  the  flashing  of  the  fireflies.  It  was  somebody's 
pipe,  and  as  it  drew  nearer  its  dim  light  revealed  the 
features  of  Antoine  Bassette,  a  self-exiled  Canadian 
"  patriot,"  who  had  fought  and  fled  with  Papineau,  and 
had  taken  shelter  here,  safe  from  the  lion's  paw  even  in 
the  edge  of  the  eagle's  nest,  where  he  was  hatching  out 
into  an  American  citizen,  chipping  the  shell  with  brave 
pecks  at  the  speech  and  customs  of  Yankee  land.  Thus 
far  in  his  life's  pilgrimage  he  had  shuffled  along  in  moc 
casins,  but  as  he  drew  near  to  naturalization  he  aspired  to 
boots,  which,  having  been  bespoken  and  duly  measured 
for,  were  the  cause  of  his  visit  to  Uncle  Lisha. 


22  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

"  Bushoo,  musheer,"  said  Lisha,  airing  his  French  in 
the  twilight. 

"  Bon  soir,  monsieur,"  politely  responded  Bassette,  and 
then  with  more  faith  in  his  own  English,  poor  as  it  was, 
than  in  Lisha' s  French  good  as  its  owner  thought  it  : 
"  Prob'ly  you  got  dem  boot  done,  One'  Lasha,  don't 
it?  Wai,  prob'ly  it  an't.  Wai,  Ah  don't  care,  you  gst 
heem  done  fore  soon,  prob'ly.  One  man  tole  me  bear 
heat  mos'  all  up  you  corn,  One'  Lasha,  an'  you  goin' 
catch  heem  wid  gawn.  Dat  so,  One'  Lasha,  hein  !  You 
tink  it  bear,  One'  Lasha?  Wai,  ah  guess  it  Ba'tlett's  hoi 
saow,  me.  Sacre  cochon  !  heat  all  ma  patack.  Daam 
hole  pig  like  dat  !  You  gat  good  gawn,  One*  Lasha  ? 
Ah  spose  so,  prob'  ly,  good  gawii  keel  bear  ?  Da  a  no 
bear  you  co'nfeel.  Ba'tlett's  hoi  saow.  Ah  hope  you 
gawn  ketch  heem,  me.  You  gat  dat  boots  did,  One' 
Lasha  ?' ' 

And  not  till  now  did  Lisha  find  a  chance  to  answer  that 
they  were  not  done,  and  that  he  was  sure  it  was  not  neigh 
bor  Bartlett's  hog  that  had  done  the  mischief  in  the  corn 
field,  for  he  had  seen  plainly  the  tracks  of  a  bear  and  had 
found  fur  such  as  never  grew  on  swine. 

The  boots  were  so  near  completion  that  a  half-hour's 
work  would  make  them  ready  for  the  torture  of  the  poor 
Canuck. 

"  Come  in,  Ann  Twine,  come  in,  an'  I'll  finish  'em 
up  to  rights."  So  saying,  Uncle  Lisha  led  the  way  into 
his  little  shop  and  lighted  the  candle  which,  stuck  in  the 
end  of  a  jointed  wooden  sconce,  illumined  his  nightly 
labors.  Then  he  deliberately  donned  his  leather  apron, 
lowered  himself  into  the  polished  leathern  seat  of  his  shoe- 
bench,  set  his  iron-rimmed,  owl-eyed  spectacles  astride  his 


UNCLE   LISffA'S   SHOP,  23 

nose,  fished  out  the  boots  from  a  clutter  of  clumsy  lasts, 
broad  slabs  of  sole  leather,  rolls  of  cowhide  and  sheepskin, 
gave  his  long  shoe-knife  a  rasping  on  the  peculiar,  coarse, 
gritty  stone  used  only  by  shoemakers,  and  was  ready  for 
work,  or  would  have  been  if  the  sharp  knife  had  not  re 
minded  him  of  a  story  which  he  began  to  tell,  while  the 
edge  of  the  knife  and  the  boot,  held  between  his  knees, 
shared,  by  turns,  his  admiring  glances. 

"  Ann  Twine,  when  my  father  lived  in  C'net'cut  he 
knowed  a  man  'at  had  a  shoe  knife  julluck  that  'at  was 
the  cutest  thing  to  cut  bread  with  anybody  ever  see,  so't 
they  useter  send  for  the  shoemaker  to  go  to  tarverns  when 
the'  was  trainin's  and  to  housen  when  the'  was  gret  wed- 
din's,  an'  such  carummuxes,  jest  a  puppus  to  cut  the 
bread.  Onct  the'  was  a  gret  shearin'  to  Colonel  Leaven- 
worth's  'at  kep  a  thousand  sheep,  an'  had  twenty  shearers 
an'  big  doin's  genally,  an'  they  sent  for  him  to — " 

But  he  did  not  finish  his  story  that  night,  for  just  then 
the  heavy  air  was  torn  by  a  loud  report,  so  startling  in  the 
midst  of  the  outer  stillness  that  had  been  broken  only  by 
the  steady  creak  of  the  crickets,  that  it  might  remind  one 
of«the  signal -gun  of  some  savagely-beleaguered  block- house 
of  the  olden  time,  and  "later  Hill  hurled  back  an  echo 
like  an  answering  gun  from  another  fort,  and  Hog's  Back 
another,  and  mingfing  with  the  swelling  and  dying  rever 
berations  was  an  angry  yell  as  of  attacking  Indians. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !"  cried  Uncle  Lisha,  scattering 
his  exclamations,  his  spectacles,  and  the  boot  from  the 
shoe-bench  to  the'dooryard  gate,  as  he  rushed  out,  brand 
ishing  his  knife. 

"  Come  on,  Ann  Twine,  come  on,  I've  got  him  !" 

He  was  half  way  across  the  pasture  before  Antoine  de- 


24  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP, 

cided  to  follow  him,  and  the  Canadian  barely  kept  the 
valorous  old  Yankee  in  sight  in  the  hazy  moonlight  as  he 
stumbled  across  the  stony  field  and  splashed  through  the 
brook  and  quite  lost  him  among  the  shadows  of  the 
maples,  but  found  him  again  in  the  cornfield  just  in  time 
to  see  him  charge  upon  a  writhing  black  object,  the  bear, 
sorely  hit  with  the  ounce  ball  and  buckshot.  The  fray 
was  short,  the  bear  sank  out  of  it  in  a  limp  heap  and  his 
conqueror  crept  out  of  it,  groaning  : 

11  Oh,  Ann  Twine,  be  you  here?"  he  gasped.  "  The 
dummed  etarnal  critter's  tore  all  my  insides  out,  but  I've 
gathered  up  the  best  on  'em  an'  I'm  goin'  to  try  to  git 
home  with  'em." 

As  he  became  more  clearly  revealed  to  the  terrified 
Frenchman  in  the  hazy  light  of  the  harvest  moon,  he  was 
seen  to  be  stooping  painfully  along,  bearing  some  burden 
in  his  gathered  apron. 

* '  Oh,  sacre  !  sacre  !  sacre  !  Da' s  too  bad,  One'  Lasha, 
too  bad,  too  bad  !  Oh,  sacre  !  Bah  gosh,  sacre  \"  He 
had  seen  nothing  so  terrible  in  the  Papineau  war.  "  Oh, 
what  Ah  do,  One'  Lasha,  what  Ah  do  ?" 

"  You  can't  help  me  here  none,  Ann  Twine,  but  you  out 
f u'  the  house  an'  git  onter  the  hoss  an'  put  fur  the  darkter. 
Mabby  he  c'n  stuff  'em  back  so  they'll  answer  for  a  spell. " 

Antoine,  with  a  face  whiter  than  the  moon  that  shone 
above  him,  sped  across  the  fields  at  a  pace  which  had  dis 
tinguished  the  close  of  his  military  career.  He  shot  him 
self  into  the  kitchen  of  the  little  farm-house  and  gave  placid 
Aunt  Jerusha  a  dreadful  shock  with  the  dire  tidings  that 
"  One'  Lasha  keel  bear  an'  bear  keel  heem  !  Hole  man 
dead  an'  bringen'  hissif  home  in  hees  aprum  !  Ah  go  for 
doctah  rat  off  !" 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  25 

The  next  minute  he  was  in  the  barn,  saddling  the  old 
horse,  and  five  minutes  later  went  clattering  down  the  road 
at  a  lumbering  gallop  toward  the  doctor's,  five  miles  away. 

Poor  Aunt  Jerusha  went  hurrying  across  the  pasture  to 
give  her  wounded  lord  such  succor  as  she  could,  with  an 
unwonted  sickness  at  her  stout  heart.  It  was  a  sufficient 
sign  of  her  trepidation  and  alarm  that  she  had  forgotten  to 
put  on  her  sun -bonnet.  Half  way  across  the  field,  Lisha 
became  discernible  against  the  dull  whiteness  of  the  mouse 
ear  and  everlasting  of  the  sterile  hillside.  As  they  ap 
proached  each  other,  he  seemed  indeed  to  be  bringing 
himself  home  in  his  apron,  as  the  Frenchman  had  said, 
stooping  over  a  burden  in  that  garment  which  was  gathered 
in  both  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  father,  be  you  dead  ?"  sobbed  Aunt  Jerusha,  in  a 
voice  strangely  mixed  of  shrill  and  deep  tones. 

"  No,  mother,  I  ain't  dead  ;  but  I  guess  I'm  goin'  to 
be.  The  'tarnal  critter  has  tore  me  all  to  pieces!  My 
heart  an'  lights  an'  stummerk  is  inside  yet,  but  I  guess 
he's  scooped  out  all  the  rest  on  'em." 

"  Oh,  what  kin  I  do  for  ye,  father;  what  kin  I  do?" 
cried  the  wife.  "  Antwine's  gone  lickaty  split  arter  the 
darkter,  an'  't  can't  be  long  'fore  he'll  come.  I  do'  know 
as  I  could  git  'em  back  right  if  I  tried,  but  I'll  try  'f  ye 
say  so,  father. ' ' 

"  No,  mother,"  Lisha  answered,  weakly  ;  "  you  can't 
do  nothin',  only  keep  along  with  me,  jist  as  ye  allers  have, 
Jerushy,"  he  added,  with  a  tremulous  tenderness  in  his 
voice  that  reminded  her  of  its  tones  when  she  was  young 
and  fair  Jerusha  Chase,  and  he  came  courting  on  the  Sunday 
nights,  left  forty  years  behind  in  their  plodding  journey. 

So  they  went  slowly  homeward,  she,  when  they  came  to 


26  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

the  fences,  making  a  way  for  him  to  pass  through.  When 
at  last  they  got  home,  the  good  old  wile  put  him  and  his 
burden  tenderly  to  bed  in  clothes  and  apron,  and  then, 
with  the  housewifely  instinct  strong  upon  her  even  in  the 
midst  of  trouble,  put  things  "  to  rights"  for  the  doctor's 
visit,  and  as  quietly  as  possible  awaited  that  event. 

Some  neighbors  to  whom  Antoine  had  scattered  out 
crumbs  of  the  burden  of  news  as  he  journeyed  toward  the 
doctor's,  came  dropping  in  to  offer  their  help  with  the 
ready  kindness  of  our  primitive  communities.  But  there 
was  nothing  for  them  to  do.  Two  or  three  of  the  oldest 
women  sat  in  the  little  bedroom  where  Aunt  Jerusha 
watched  beside  her  husband,  whom  she  dared  not  doubt 
was  soon  to  leave  her  alone  in  this  end  of  the  world,  for 
their  only  son  had  settled  in  "  the  'Hio,"  then  almost  at 
the  other  end  of  the  world.  The  other  women  sat  primly 
against  the  walls  of  the  "  square  room,"  some  telescoping 
their  sun-bonnets  together  and  magnifying  in  whispers  the 
latest  neighborhood  gossip. 

The  men  lounged  in  the  doorways  or  against  the  side  of 
the  house  and  dooryard  fence,  and  told  in  low  voices  their 
experience  with  bears  and  discussed  this  most  recent  and 
tragic  one. 

"Uncle  Lisha  hedn't  fit  bears  much/'  said  Samuel 
Lovel,  a  tall  farmer  who  loved  hunting  more  than  farming  ; 
"  'i  he  hed  he  wouldn't  a-tackled  one  with  a  shoe-knife." 

"Wai,"  said  Tom  Hamlin,  another  hunting  farmer, 
"it  don't  somehow  seem  noways  fair  t'  set  spring  guns 
and  traps  and  such  for  varmints,  'thout  it's  skunks  an' 
mink  an'  mushrats.  I'd  rather  shute  one  bear  V  t'  trap 
ten.  They  ha'  no  more  instinc'  about  a  trap  V  a  skunk 
hes!" 


UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP.  27 

"  Wai,"  drawled  Joseph  Hill,  "  skunks  hes  outstink  !  — 
seems  's  'ough  they  hed." 

"  But  then/'  apologized  Joel  Bartlett,  "  thee  sees  he 
was  a-eatin'  all  Uncle  Lisha's  corn,  'n'  the'd  got  to  be 
suthin'  did.  I  should  feel  bore  aout  in  killin'  a  bear  any 
way  I  could — if  I  hed  to  pizen  him." 

"That  would  spile  the  skin,"  objected  Joseph  Hill, 
with  an  eye  to  the  main  chance,  "  'n'  I  d'  know  but 
'twould  the  ile  ;  sartainly  'twould  the  meat." 

"  Dot  rot  bear's  meat,"  Tom  Hamlin  said  ;  "I'd  jes' 
's  soon  eat  snake's  meat  !" 

"Wai,"  remarked  Joseph  Hill,  "I've  hearn  o'  folks 
'at  liked  snake's  meat.  I'd  a  leetle  druther  hev  bear.  It 
all  depends  on  how  a  feller  was  brung  up,  'n'  we  never 
hed  no  snakes  cooked  't  aour  haouse — that  is,  not  'si  re 
member  on." 

"  Wonder  'f  Uncle  Lisha's  bear's  fat  ?"  queried  a  thrifty 
man.  "  'F  he  is  't  'ill  be  quite  a  help  to  the  widder. 
Bear's  ile  is  wulh  suthin'  consid' able. " 

"  It's  a  hopesin'  the'  haint  a-goin'  tu  be  no  widder," 
said  Sam  Lovel ;  "we  can't  let  Uncle  Lisha  go  yit  awhile 
— but  there  !"  exclaimed  the  tall  hunter,  unlooping  him 
self  from  the  fence,  ' '  why  haint  we  thought  to  go  an'  fetch 
the  bear  hum  'stead  a-loafin'  round  here  duin'  nothin'  ? 
Come  on,  men  ;  git  a'  axe  to  cut  a  pole  an'  a  rope  to  tie 
his  laigs  together  —  no,  the  line  of  the  gun  '11  do  for 
that." 

And  so,  the  axe  found,  a  half  dozen  of  them  started 
across  the  field  and  faded  out  of  sight  long  before  their 
voices  were  drawn  beyond  hearing. 

The  doctor  had  been  aroused  from  his  slumbers  by 
Antoine's  loud  summons  to  "  Come  up  to  One'  Lasha. 


28  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

Bear  tore  his  eenside  all  off,  an'  he  don'  gat  ma  boot 
done,  mos'." 

The  first  of  the  small  hours  found  the  rough  but  kindly 
old  mediciner  at  Lisha's  door  before  the  bearers  had  re 
turned  with  the  dear-bought  spoil. 

"  Now,  come  in  here  with  me,  you  two  chaps,"  he 
said,  selecting  a  couple  of  stout  hearts,  "and  bring  each 
on  ye  a  candle.  Well,  Lisha,"  looking  at  his  patient 
intently  and  examining  his  pulse,  "you  don't 'pear  so 
very  bad  off.  Guess  we  can  fix  you  up  for  another  bear 
fight  yet  !  Now,  men,  hold  the  lights,"  and  he  put  on 
his  spectacles,  rolled  back  his  cuffs  and  turned  down  the 
folds  of  the  leather  apron.  He  carefully  touched  and 
closely  inspected  for  a  moment  what  was  disclosed,  then 
his  face  flushed  angrily,  and  the  candle-bearers  were  horri 
fied  to  see  him  gather  up  the  trailing  mass  in  both  hands 
and  hurl  it  across  the  room,  roaring  : 

"  You  confounded  old  fool  !  these  all  belong  to  the 
bear  !" 

Though  Lisha  had  received  some  ugly  scratches,  he  had 
suffered  no  serious  injury,  and  was  able  next  day  to  finish 
Antoine's  boots.  And  in  consideration  of  his  services  in 
the  old  man's  hour  of  sore  trial  he  was  made  happy,  until 
he  had  worn  them  a  day,  by  having  them  given  him  out 
right. 


III. 

IN    UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

AFTER  his  adventure  with  the  bear,  Uncle  Lisha  Peggs's 
shop  became  more  than  ever  what  it  had  long  been,  a  sort 
of  sportsman's  exchange,  where,  as  one  of  the  fraternity 
expressed  it,  the  hunters  and  fishermen  of  the  widely  scat 
tered  neighborhood  met  of  evenings  and  dull  out-door 
days  "to  swap  lies."  Almost  every  one  had  a  story  to 
tell,  but  a  few  only  listened  and  laughed,  grunted,  or  com 
mented  as  the  tale  told  was  good,  bad  or  of  doubtful  au 
thenticity.  And  so  one  October  evening,  as  the  rising 
hunter's  moon  was  streaking  the  western  slopes  with 
shadows  of  evergreen  spires  and  long  paths  of  white  moon 
light,  Uncle  Lisha' s  callers  began  to  drop  in  by  ones  and 
twos.  The  first  comer  got  the  best  seat,  the  broken-backed 
chair,  the  next  the  second  best,  so  accounted,  the  chair 
with  three  legs,  though  the  occupant  had  to  give  so  much 
thought  to  the  keeping  of  his  balance,  that  he  sometimes 
tumbled  to  the  floor  when  the  laugh  came  in.  The  later 
comers  had  the  choice  of  seats  on  a  roll  of  sole  leather,  the 
cold  box-stove,  or  a  board  laid  across  the  tub  in  which 
Lisha  soaked  his  leather,  and  the  latest  the  floor,  with  the 
privilege  of  lying  at  length  upon  it  or  setting  their  backs 
against  the  plastered  wall.  So  were  disposed  a  half  score 
of  the  old  cordwainer's  neighbors,  thus  far  doing  little  but 
smoke,  chew,  and  silently  watch  Lisha  as  he  hammered 


30  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

out,  shaped  and  pegged  on  the  tap  of  a  travel-worn  boot 
as  intently  as  if  they  were  taking  lessons  in  the  craft,  when 
Antoine  Bassette  entered  with  a  polite  "  Good  evelin, 
One'  Lasha  ;  good  evelin,  all  de  zhontemans."  Then 
as  he  looked  about  he  drew  forth  from  one  pocket  his  short 
black  pipe,  from  another  his  knife,  with  which  he  scraped 
out  the  pipe  and  emptied  it  on  the  stove  hearth,  then  he 
got  out  from  another  a  twist  of  greenish-black  tobacco, 
and  whittling  off  a  charge  and  grinding  it  between  his 
palms,  rilled  and  lighted  his  pipe  at  Lisha's  candle  with 
such  sturdy  pulls  that  the  little  dip  seemed  likelier  to  be 
quenched  than  to  longer  ' '  shine  like  a  good  deed  in  a 
naughty  world." 

"Git  aout  !  ye  dummed  peasouper,"  Lisha  shouted, 
after  pounding  his  fingers  instead  of  a  peg  in  the  uncertain 
light,  "  you'll  hev  us  all  in  total  moonlight  fust  ye  know  ! 
Take  a  match  er  a  splinter  an'  light  yer  pipe  like  white 
folks,  stiddy  suckin'  my  candle  aout.  Don't  ye  know 
what  the  feller  said  'at  wasgoin'  t'  be  hung  in  ten  minutes, 
when  they  gin  him  a  candle  t'  light  his  pipe  with  ?  He 
says,  says  he,  *  Gimme  a  match,  if  ye  please,  'taint 
healthy  t'  light  a  pipe  with  a  candle/  says  he.  Take 
keer  'f  yer  health,  Ann  Twine,  f  that 'ere  Canady  Gov- 
'ner  '11  want  ye  t'  be  wuth  hangin',  when  he  gits  a  holt  on 
ye." 

"Hah,  naow.  One'  Lasha,"  said  Antoine,  "  dat  wus 
too  bad  faw  you  talk  so  to  me.  Who  help  you  w'en  dat 
bear  keel  you,  hein  ?' ' 

"  Wai,  yes,"  Lisha  rejoined,  "  ye  did  help,  sartin  ;  the 
bear  an'  I  done  the  fightin'  an'  you  done  the  runnin'. 
You  larnt  how  to  du  that  in  the  Pap'neau  war,  an'  ye 
larnt  it  well,  Ann  Twine  ;  ye  don't  need  no  more  lessons.  " 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  31 

"  Wai,  Ah  do,  seh.  Ah  wan'  some  bodee  show  me 
haow  Ah  run  wid  dem  boot  you  mek  me  'f  Ah  don'  cah 
heem  in  mah  han',  an'  den  he  pooty  heavy.  But,  bah  gosh  ! 
wa'  heem  on  ma  foots?  Ah  jus'  leave  wa'  two  stofe  like 
dat.  He  be  jus'  so  sof ,  jus'  so  not  heavy." 

'*  Haow  d'  ye  'spose  any  body  could  fit  yer  dummed 
Canuck  feet  arter  ye'd  wore  souyaas*  ever  sen'  ye  was 
weaned,  ker-splash,  ker-spotter,  till  yer  feet's  wider' n  they 
be  long  ?  You  git  ye  some  babeeshf  an'  I'll  give  ye  tew 
sides  o'  sole  luther,  an'  then  ye  can  make  ye  some  souyaas, 
'n'  then  put  on  yer  ole  trouses  'at  ye  could  carry  a  week's 
p'vision  in  the  seat  on,  an'  be  a  Canuck  ;  ye  can't  be  a 
'Merican,  no  ways." 

"  Ah,  One'  Lasha  1  You  pooty  bad  hole  man.  Haow 
you  feel  dat  time  you  tink  you  dead  ?  Wha'  you  tink 
you  go  ?  A'nt  you  sorry  you  don't  was  been  mo'  gooder? 
Wha'  you  tink  you  go,  hein  ?" 

"  I  do'  know,"  Uncle  Lisha  slowly  responded  ;  "  but 
I  hoped  I'd  go  where  the'  wa'n't  no  Canucks  !" 

"  Dah  !  dah  !  One'  Lasha;  you  so  weeked  no  use 
talk  to  you,"  cried  Antoine,  when  the  laugh  in  which  he 
joined  had  subsided  ;  "  'f  you  tole  dat  leet'ly  story  you 
beegin  dat  night,  Ah  won't  said  no  mo'  ;  you  leave  off  rat 
in  meedly  w'en  de  bear  shoot  heself,  an'  you  see  Ah  got 
so  Yankee  Ah  mos'  come  dead  'cause  Ah  do'  know  de  en' 
of  it.  Dat  story,  you  know,  'bout  man  dat  cut  bread  so 
fas'  wid  shoe-knife.  You  rembler?" 

"  Le'  me  see,"  said  Lisha,  scratching  his  head  with  his 
awl  ;  "  oh,  yes,  I  remember  !  Wai,  I  s'pect  that's  a  true 
story,  Ann  Twine,  an'  'f  I  tell  it  ye  got  t'  b'lieve  it." 


*  Moccasins.  f  Rawhide  used  for  sewing  moccasins. 


- 


32  UNCLE   LISIIA'S  SHOP. 

"  Oh,  sartin,  One'  Lasha  ;  Ah  don'  b'leeve  you  lole 
lie  no  more  as  Ah  do  ;  no,  sah. " 

"  Humph  !"  Lisha  grunted.  "  I  never  knowed  but 
one  Canuck  but  what  'ould  lie." 

"  An'  dat  was  me,  One'  Lasha  ?" 

"  No,  sir  !  He  was  a  dead  one  !  Wai,  the'  was  a 
shoemaker  't  lived  in  Connecticut,  an'  my  father  knowed 
him,  'at  hed  a  knife  julluk  this" — holding  up  his  longest 
knife — "  the  cutest  thing  t'  cut  bread  with't  ever  was,  but 
he  wouldn't  let  nob'dy  but  his  own  self  use  it,  so  they  use 
ter  send  fer  him  to  all  gret  duins  t'  cut  the'  bread  fer 
'em.  Wai,  arter  he'd  ben  a-cuttin'  raoun'  for  three,  fo' 
year,  they  sent  fer  him  one  July  to  go  t'  Colonel  Leaven- 
worth's  gret  shearin'.  He  kep*  a  thousan'  sheep,  an* 
hed  twenty  shearers,  an'  made  a  big  splonto,  '  wine  in 
quart  mugs  an'  strawb'ries  rolled  in  cream,'  he  use  ter 
brag  about,  but  they  wan't  on'y  pint  mugs  'n  not  filled 
very  often  at  that,  an'  the  wine  was  cider,  an'  the'  wan't 
more  'n  tew  strawb'ries  apiece,  'n'  they  was  dried  apples. 
Wai,  the  shoemaker  come  with  his  knife  keener  'n  ever, 
an'  the  han's  an'  comp'ny  hed  all  got  washed  up  for  din 
ner  with  the'  clean  clo's  on,  an'  stood  raound  watchin' 
on  him  cut  the  bread,  ker  slice,  ker  slice,  faster  'n  a  gal 
could  pick  up  the  slices,  off  'm  a  loaf  't  he  he!'  agin  his 
breast.  He  done  it  so  neat 't  they  cheered  him,  which 
he  got  kinder  'xcited,  an'  tried  t'  cut  faster  'n  ever,  an' 
the  next  lick  he  gin  the  loaf  he  cut  hisself  clean  in  tew, 
an'  the  man  'at  stood  behind  him  clean  in  tew,  an'  badly 
waounded  the  next  one.  They  sot  tew  an'  stuck  'em 
together  so  't  they  lived,  but  it  spilte  the  shoemaker's 
bread-cuttin*  business,  an'  he  hed  to  go  back  toshoemakin' 
an'  starvin',  julluk  me." 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP,  33 

"Wai,  sah,  One'  Lasha, "  cried  Antoine,  emphasizing 
every  word  with  a  gesture,  "Ah  b'lieve  dat  story,  'cause 
Ah  promise,  baht  Ah  tink  'twas  'cause  you  goin'  tole  it 
dat  bear  scrape  you  so  bad.  You  see,  sah,  bear  is  send 
for  punish  bad  folkses.  An't  you  hear  haow  bear  keel 
fawty-leetly  boy  'cause  dey  call  hoi  man  he  don'  got  no 
hair  on  top  hees  head  of  it — what  you  call  heem — bal'  ? 
Ah  spec'  dey  be  nudder  bear  long  'fore  soon  for  ketch 
hoi  man  what  tole  such  story,  an'  den  tell  Frenchman  he 
don*  lie  honly  w'en  he  dead  1" 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !"  Lisha  roared,  "  I  du  believe 
one  on  'em  would  hev  the  last  word  'f  he  was  deader  'n  a 
door  nail.  Wai,"  he  continued,  as  he  put  his  tools  in 
their  places  and  took  off  his  apron,  "  it's  'baout  time  't 
honest  folks  was  abed  an'  rogues  locked  aout,  but  you 
needn't  hurry  none  'baout  goin'  t'  bed,  Ann  Twine." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  shop  was  dark  but  for  the  patch 
of  moonlight  that  shone  in  through  the  little  window  set 
longwise  of  the  room,  and  the  visitors  scattered  to  their 
homes. 


IV. 

CONCERNING   OWLS. 

ONE  night  when  the  November  wind  was  growling 
among  the  stunted  firs  that  crest  old  "  'Tater  Hill, "  al 
ready  grizzly  with  more  than  one  snowfall,  the  brotherhood 
of  hunters  and  fishers,  story-tellers  and  listeners  came 
stumbling  along  the  rough  frozen  roads  and  across  the 
frosty  fields  to  Lisha's  shop.  The  little  box-stove  was 
no  longer  cold  ;  its  red  jaws  grinned  defiance  at  approach 
ing  winter,  and  its  cheeks  blushed  with  a  ruddier  glow 
than  the  summer's  rust  had  given  them,  and  its  warmth 
heightened  the  odors  of  tannin,  wax  and  mouldy  boots  that 
always  hold  their  own  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  cobbler's 
shop.  The  firing  of  the  stove  would  have  unseated  two 
visitors  if  a  couple  of  sap  tubs  with  a  board  laid  across 
them  had  not  made  room  for  twice  as  many,  and  this  was 
now  the  coveted  first  place  for  the  coldest  comers  to  sit  in 
and  thaw  out  their  chilled  marrows  and  their  wells  of  con 
versation.  To  this  extent  had  Sam  Lovel  been  warmed 
when  he  opened  his  lean  jaws,  and  said  with  a  sigh  of 
pent-up  satisfaction,  "Ah,  wal,  Uncle  Lisher,  I  ketched 
a-nuther  bear  t'  day. ' ' 

"  Du  tell  !"  said  Lisha,  drawing  hard  on  the  waxed 
ends  with  which  he  was  closing  up  a  ripped  boot-leg. 
"  Wal,  Sam,  was  he  's  heavy  's  ole  Cap'n  Powerses  hawg 
was?  '  Killed  tew  hawgs  terday/  says  'e,  '  both  on  'em 


UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP.  35 

good    ones,    but   one  on    'em  was  a  sollaker,  I    tell  ye — 
weighed  ninety  !  '     Was  ye'  bear  '  s  heavy  '  s  that,  Sam  ? ' ' 

"  Wai, "  Sam  asked,  "  haows  three  hund'ed  an'  seventy- 
seven  ?  That' s  his  heft  ezackly. ' ' 

"  Real  weight  or  guess  weight  ?"  some  one  asked. 

"  Why,  real  weight,  'f  course,  an'  no  guessin'  'baout 
it." 

"  Where  'd  ye  weigh  him  ?" 

"  T'  hum,"  Sam  replied  shortly. 

"  Sho  !"  sneered  the  doubter,  "  ye  hain't  got  no  scales 
nor  bolances  !  Haow  could  ye  weigh  'im  t'  hum  ?" 

*'  Wai,  naow,  I  did  weigh  'im  fair  an'  hones',  an'  he 
weighed  jist  ezackly  what  I  tell  ye.  I  c'n  lift  jist  three 
hund'ed  an'  fifty  paound,  an'  I  couldn't  lift  him  inter 
j-e-s-t  twenty-seven  paound.  Naow  'f  that  don't  make 
three  hund'ed  and  seventy-seven,  I  hain't  got  no  'reth- 
mytic. " 

A  long  young  man,  whose  arms  and  shanks  seemed  to 
have  lengthened  beyond  his  means  to  keep  them  clothed, 
ventured  to  say  as  he  looked  admiringly  upon  his  new 
buckskin  mittens,  too  precious  to  be  taken  off  his  hands, 
but  kept  opening  and  closing  and  turning  on  them  just 
before  his  eyes,  "  The's  a  painter  a-hantin'  on  Hawg's 
Back,  I  du  raly  b'lieve  ;  I  hearn  the  gol  darnedest  yollupin' 
up  there  t'other  night,  julluk  a  womern  a  hollerin',  V  I 
hollered,  V  it  arnswered,  an'  kep'  comin'  nigher,  'n' 
then  I  started  my  boots  fer  hum,  I  tell  ye  !" 
%  "  Sho  1  Sho  1  Peltier,  you  git  aout  !"  Lisha  roared, 
for  he  was  apt  to  think  it  his  exclusive  right  to  see  and 
hear  all  strange  things  first.  "  'Twan't  nothin'  but  a  big 
aowl,  I  bet  ye  1" 

"  'Twan't  no  aowl,"  cried  Pelatiah,  clapping  his  mit- 


36  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

tened  palms  together  with  a  resounding  smack  ;  "  'twas  a 
annymill  !     Guess  I  know  an  aowl  when  1  hear  'im  !" 

"  Wai,  mebby  'twas  a  lynk.  A  lynk  '11  git  up  a  c'nsid- 
'able  'f  a  skeeryyowlin'.  'N'  mebby 'twas  tew  ole  tomcats 
a-fightin'  up  'tye'  west  barn.  D'ye  ever  hear,  boys," 
Lisha  continued,  without  waiting  for  any  reply  from 
Pelatiah,  "  baout  Joel  Bartlett's  Irishmun  't  he  sent  up  int' 
the  aidge  o'  the  parster  a-choppin'  one  day?  Didn't  ye, 
none  on  ye  ?  Wai,  up  he  went,  and  bimeby  he  come 
a-runnin'  back  scairt  half  ter  death,  an'  hollerin'  '  Mur- 
ther  !  oh,  murther  !  it's  a  painter  I  seen,  sure  's  me  name's 
Pat  Murphy  !  '  '  Show  !  '  says  Joel,  '  haow  'd  he  look, 
Partrick  ?  ' 

'  Wai,'  says  Pat,  '  he  was  yolly,  sur,  an'  he  had  a  long 
tail  on  'im.' 

"  '  Wai,  naow,  Partrick,  wa'n't  it  aour  ole  yaller  tom 
cat  ?  ' 

"  '  Be  gob,  sur,  it  moight, '  sez  Pat,  an'  he  lit  his  pipe 
an'  went  back  to  his  choppin'  's  contented  's  if  the'  hedn't 
never  been  a  painter  in  V  mont. ' ' 

Pelatiah 's  panther  being  thus  contemptuously  disposed 
of,  the  conversation  turned  for  a  time  to  owls. 

"Aowls,"  said  Lisha,  as  he  rolled  a  waxed  end  upon 
his  aproned  knee,  "  '11  make  turable  onairthly  an'  skeery 
noises,  p'tic'ly  big  aowls,  which  the's  more  'n  one  kind 
on  'em,  hoot  aowls,  an'  white  aowls  'n'  I  d'  know  what 
aowls.  I've  hed  'em  make  my  hair  stan'  right  stret  up, 
sen  I  was  older  'n  Peltier  is,  tew." 

"  Wai,  I  don't  keer  a  darn  what  ye  say,"  said  Pelatiah, 
after  breathing  through  the  back  of  his  right-hand  mitten 
to  assure  himself  for  the  hundredth  time  that  it  was  genuine 
buckskin,  "  'twan't  no  aowl  't  I  heard,  'twas  a  annymill  ! 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  37 

'F  I  bed  me  a  rifle  I'd  go  a-huntin'  on 'im  ;"  but  he 
could  arouse  no  interest  in  his  panther  further  than  the 
offer  from  Jonas  Gove  of  his  rifle  for  half  the  bounty,  if 
the  panther  was  killed,  or  half  a  dollar  a  day  for  the  use 
of  the  weapon,  which  was  declined. 

Tom  Hamlin  said  that  he  had  heard  "a  dozen  gret 
aowls  a-hootin'  an'  a-shoutin'  as  he  come  along." 

; '  Yaas,  Tawmus, ' '  said  Solon  Briggs,  who  was  weather- 
wise  as  well  as  wise  in  other  things,  "so'd  I,  an'  the's 
goin'  to  be  some  kind  o'  fallin'  weather  'fore  long,  you 
see  'f  the'  hain't." 

' '  Wai,  yas, ' '  Tom  assented,  ' '  most  allus  the'  is  arter 
they  hoot  so.  Haow  d'  y'  'caount  for  it,  Sole  ?" 

"  Waal,  I'll  tell  ye,  Tawmus.  I've  meddytated  on  't 
c'nsid'able,  an'  my  idee  Js  this" — crossing  his  legs  and 
putting  his  right  forefinger  into  the  palm  of  his  left  hand — 
"  D'ye  ever  have  the  rheumatiz  ?" 

"  Yas,  I'vehed'em." 

"  'N'  wa'n't  they  wus  'fore  a  storm  ?" 

Tom  nodded  repeatedly,  and  said,  "  They  was  wus." 

"  Waal,  naow  then,"  Solon  continued,  "  the  aowls  't 
we  hear  is  big  aowls,  an'  nat'ally  they're  ol'  aowls,  'n' 
they've  got  the  rheumatiz,  an'  when  the's  a  storm  a-comin' 
on  the  rheumatiz  begin  to  rack  'em,  an'  they  holler  aout. 
Hain't  that  re'son'ble  naow,  and" — looking  around  upon 
the  company  and  bringing  down  his  finger  with  a  clinking 
smack  upon  his  palm  —  * '  and  phillysoffycable,  so  to 
speak  ?'' 

"  P'haps,"  said  Lisha,  as  he  rasped  his  knife  upon  the 
sandstone,  "  someb'dy  could  tell  us  suthin'  'baout  shootin' 
aowls  ;  haow  is  it,  Jozeff  ?' '  he  asked,  looking  between  his 
shaggy  eyebrows  and  the  top  of  his  spectacles  at  a  thick-set 


38  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

fellow  who  was  taking  his  ease  in  a  farther  corner  of  the 
shop. 

"  Naow,  Lisher,"  said  Joseph,  "you  keep  on  tellin' 
yer  stories  an'  lemme  'lone,  if  you  please," 

"Jozeff,"  said  Lisha  in  a  terrible  voice,  shaking  his 
knife  at  the  unwilling  story-teller,  "you  tell  'baout  ye 
shootin'  the  aowl,  er  I  will  !" 

"  Wai,  then,"  said  Joseph,  slowly  getting  into  a  sitting 
posture,  and  knocking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  "  I  guess 
you'd  make  it  wus  'n  I  would,  'n'  so  I'll  tell  it.  Ye  see, 
the'  was  a  big  aowl  come,  gol  blast  him,  an'  kerned  off 
half  a  dozen,  I  d'  know  but  more — no,  mebbe  baout  that 
'maount  o'  M'ri's  chickins,  an*  I  tole  M'ri,  I  did,  't  I'd 
fix  him  'fore  he  knowed  it.  So  next  night,  er  I  guess 
mebbe  next  night  arter — one  er  t'other,  anyhaow — I  looked 
aout  the  winder,  an'  I  seen  him  a-sittin'  on  a  clo's 
pos',  an'  I  got  my  gun,  I  did.  M'ri  open  the  winder 
kinder  easy,  an'  I  poked  the  gun  aout  an'  onhitched  on 
'im  ;  but  somehaow  the  gun  wa'n't  loaded  fur  aowls,  er 
I  was  too  fas',  er  suthin,  an'  I  never  tetched  'im  !  Shot 
over,  I  s'pose — anyway,  I  thought  I  did.  Wai,  next 
Monday  night  when  the  clo's  was  all  a-hangin*  aout,  he 
come  agin,  he  did,  an'  sot  on  the  same  clo's  pos'.  I  hed 
the  ole  gun  all  ready,  an'  M'ri  open  the  winder  agin,  an' 
I  run  'er  aout,  an'  took  dead  aim  a  foot  below  th'  aowl, 
fur  says  I  to  myself,  says  I,  I  won't  overshoot  this  time, 
says  I,  an'  I  let  flicker,  an'  I  be  darned  if  I  didn't  miss 
him,  but,  by  gosh  !  I  blowed  my  harnsome  shirt 't  hung 
right  below  'im  all  to  flinders.  It  tickled  M'ri  t'  think  't 
I  made  sech  a  good  shot,  an'  I  spec'  she  tol'  on  it ;  I 
didn't,  not  fust,  I  don'tb'lieve  ;  'n'  Lisher,  darn  his  ole 
picter,  he  got  holt  on  it. "  When  the  laugh  subsided, 


UNCLE   US  HAS   SHOP.  39 

Joseph  added,    "Wai,  'twa'n't  a  bear,  'n'  he  didn't  tear 
my  insides  aout,  if  my  shirt  did  git  tore  !" 

Uncle  Lisha  tossed  the  mended  boot  to  its  owner,  who 
sat  nursing  the  stockinged  foot  to  which  it  belonged,  and 
laying  aside  his  tools  arose  and  took  off  his  apron,  which 
was  a  signal  to  his  visitors  to  depart,  and  so  they  presently 
disappeared  in  the  dim  starlight  of  the  November  night. 


V. 

UNCLE  LISHA'S  COURTING. 

THOUGH  in  mid-day  there  was  yet  a  hazy  after-taste  of 
the  sweetness  of  Indian  summer,  the  season  was  beginning 
to  have  a  smack  of  winter  in  its  night  air.  On  such  an 
evening,  as  the  first  star  began  to  shine  above  the  rounded 
peak  of  'Tater  Hill,  Lisha  rubbed  the  mist  off  a  pane  of  his 
long,  low  shop  window,  and  stooping  his  eye  to  it,  peered 
out  upon  the  darkening  road.  Out  of  the  gloaming  pres 
ently  grew  some  dark  shapes  into  men,  the  sound  of  whose 
footsteps  and  voices  came  a  little  before  them.  When  they 
and  others  had  entered  and  been  welcomed  by  Lisha,  he 
having  lighted  his  pipe  and  taken  some  work  in  hand,  de 
clared  "  the  meetin'  open,"  and  that  they  "  was  all  ready 
to  transack  business."  Little  was  said  till  some  one 
remarked,  "  Pwheeew  !"  And  then  all  became  aware 
that  an  odor  more  pungent  and  powerful  than  those  of 
leather  and  shoemaker's  wax  was  pervading  the  atmosphere 
of  the  shop. 

"Good  airth  an'  seas!"  cried  Lisha,  "I  secont  the 
motion  !  Le's  all  whew  !  Some  on  ye  stepped  on  suthin' 
t' night,  or  somebody  got  skunk's  ile  to  sell." 

Each  took  a  sniff  of  his  neighbor  till  the  source  of  the 
fragrance  was  traced  to  Pelatiah's  corner,  when  he  shame 
facedly  confessed  that  he  "  hed  ben  a-trappin'  a  leetle, " 
but  said  in  extenuation,  "  I  sot  fer  mink.  I  hed  one  trap 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  41 

sot  in  a  holler  log  over  to  Hillses'  brook,  with  a  raster's 
head  fer  bait,  an'  when  I  went  tu  it  yist'day,  the  trap  was 
hauled  int'  the  log.  I  pulled  on  the  chain  c'nsid'able 
stout,  but  it  didn't  le'  go  a  bit,  an'  then  I  god  daown  on 
all  fours  an'  peeked  in  to  see  what  the  matter  was  ailded 
it,  an' — oh,  gosh  all  Connet'cutt  !  My  eyes  hain't  god 
done  smartin'  yit  !  I  rolled  an'  I  tumbled  till  I  got  to 
water,  'n'  then  I  washed  an'  rubbed  an'  scrubbed  till  I 
c'ld  see  nuthin'  'sides  stars  and  lire,  an'  then  I  went  hum 
an'  baried  all  them  clo's,  an'  washed  me  in  three  waters 
an'  smudged  me  with  hemlock  browse,  an',  gosh  darn  it 
all,  I  didn't  'spose  I  wa'n't  all  sweetened  aout  !  'F  my 
comp'ny  hain't  'greeable  I'll  dig  fer  hum.  " 

"  Sho  !"  Lisha  shouted,  with  hearty  politeness,  "  guess 
we  c'n  stan'  it  'f  you  can  !  'S  fer  me,  I  ruther  like  a 
leetle  good  fresh  skunk  parfum'ry.  The's  some  'at  eats 
'em" — rolling  his  eye  toward  a  known  mephitipophagist 
— "an'  I  sh'd  think  them  'at  likes  the  taste  would  the 
smell.  Furdermore,  I'm  beholden  to  skunks  fer  c'nsid' 
able  myself.  Keep  yerself  comf  table,  Peltier." 

No  one  objected  to  Pelatiah's  presence,  and  several  asked 
Lisha  how  he  was  indebted  to  skunks  for  anything. 

"  Wai,"  said  he,  slowly  scraping  the  sole  of  a  boot  with 
a  bit  of  broken  glass,  while  his  thoughts  went  backward 
over  the  rough  path  of  his  life,  "  in  the  fust  place,  when  I 
was  a  leetle  chap  they  cured  me  o'  croup  with  skunk's  ile, 
which  they  gi'n  it  ter  me  spoo'ful  arter  spoo'ful,  an' 
greesed  my  stomerk  with  it  outside,  tew.  An'  then  arter 
I'd  got  growed  up,  skunk  essence  cured  me  of  azmy.  An' 
then — I  don't  scasely  b'lieve  I'd  ha'  ever  got  Jerushy  'f  't 
hed  n't  a  been  fer  a  skunk  !" 

After  the  "  wal  I   swans,"  and  "  goshes,"   and  "  you 


42  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

don't  says,"  which  this  declaration  called  forth,  there  was 
a  general  demand  for  an  explanation,  and  Lisha  laid  down 
his  boot  and  glass,  and  devoted  himself  wholly  to  the  tell 
ing  of  his  story,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  locking 
and  unlocking  his  waxy  ringers  as  he  talked,  as  if  so  he 
wove  the  woof  of  his  tale. 

"  I  never  sot  no  gret  on  ole  folks  tell  in'  of  what  they'd 
did,  or  ben,  or  hed  when  't  they  was  younger,  but  when 
Jerushy  was  Jerushy  Chase  she  was  '  baout  '  s  pooty  a  gal 
as  c'ld  be  dug  up  in  tew,  three  taowns,  an'  as  smart  and 
cap'ble,  an'  nat'lly  she  was  sought  arter,  an'  none  the  less 
'cause  her  father  was  tol'able  well  off.  When  I  begin 
a-sparkin'  on  her,  I  hed  n'  t  nothin'  much  but  my  tew 
hands,  was  a-workin'  aout  by  the  month  for  this  one  an' 
that  one  for  six  or  eight  months,  an'  I'd  larnt  to  shoemake 
a  leetle,  so  's  't  I  '  whipped  the  cat  '*  winters,  so  ye  see  I 
was  arnin'  suthin'  all  the  time,  an'  I  wa'n't  sech  a  humbly 
ole  critter's  I  be  naow,  so  's  't  I  stood  jes 's  good  a 
chance  as  any  o'  the  fellers,  till  bimeby  the'  come  a  chap 
to  teach  aour  deestrick  school,  a  college  feller  f'm  Middle- 
bury.  He  was  a  clever  creeter,  an'  smart,  an'  good-natured 
an'  hahnsome,  c'ld  rastle  like  a  bear,  V  sing  like  a 
boblink,  'n'  wore  hahnsome  clo's  every  day,  so  all  the 
gals  'most  was  a-ravin'  an'  a-rarin'  arter  him.  Jerushy 
wa'n't,  though,  an'  that  made  him  the  faster  and  fircer 
arter  her.  An'  so  arter  awhile  his  pooty  talk  an'  hahn 
some  clo's  an'  all  them  college  things  begin  to  work  on 
her,  'n'  she  git  so 't  she'd  mos'  lives  I  would  n't  come 
Sunday  nights  as  not. 

*  "  Whipping  the  cat"  is  working  from  house  to  house  at  shoe- 
making  or  tailoring,  as  was  a  common  custom  in  old  times. 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  43 

"So  it  run  along  till  tow- ward  the  middle  o'  sugarin', 
she  a-favorin'  him  a  leetle  mor'n  me  of  the  tew,  an'  the' 
was  goin'  to  be  a  gret  sugarin'  off  to  Hillses,  'n'  most 
everbody  hed  a  mvite.  I  went  'n'  ast  Jerushy  to  go  'long 
with  me,  V  she  said  she  '  didn't  know  ;  guessed  she'd  go 
'long  with  the  one  'at  come  arter  her  fust.'  Thinks,  says  I, 
Mr.  Schoolmarster,  'f  you  get  to  Uncle  Chase's  'fore  I 
du,  you'll  hafter  pull  foot  for  it  lively.  So 'long  in  the 
middle  o'  the  art' noon  I  got  my  chores  all  done  up,  an' 
dressed  me  an'  put  off.  I  put  'crost  lots,  'n'  I  hedn't 
got  fur  when  darned  if  I  didn't  see  that  'tarnal  schoolmar- 
ster  jest  a-goin'  int'  the  aidge  o'  Meeker' s  Woods,  pintin' 
for  Uncle  Chase's,  'n'  nearer  tu  it 'n'  I  was.  I  doubled 
my  jumps  an'  got  there,  an'  tole  Jerushy  I'd  got  there 
fust  'n'  she'd  got  to  go  'long  with  me.  She  kinder  hung 
,off,  lookin'  outen  the  winder  every  onct  an'  awhile,  but 
nary  a  schoolmarster  !  An'  so  bimeby  she  got  rigged  up, 
an'  off  we  went,  an'  had  a  gret  carummux  to  the  sugarin'. 
She  kep'  a-sythin'  an'  a-peekin'  fer  a  spell,  but  nary  a 
schoolmarster,  an'  then  she  got  desput  jolly,  'n'  made 
more  fun  'n  the  hull  toot  on  'em.  Goin'  hum  in  the 
moonshine,  I  ast  her  to  jine  me  in  a  sugarin'  for  life,  an' 
'fore  we  got  to  the  chips  in  the  do' yard  she  'greed  she 
would,  an'  here  we  be  !  Me  on  this  'ere  shoebench,  an' 
she,"  lifting  his  voice  and  pointing  a  waxy  forefinger  at 
the  door  that  opened  into  the  kitchen,  "  an'  she  a-peekin' 
through  the  crack  o'  that  'ere  door  !"  The  door  squeaked 
suddenly  to,  and  the  wooden  latch  clicked  rather  spitefully. 

"  Wai,"  said  one  disappointed  auditor,  breaking  the 
short  ensuing  silence,  "  wha'd  all  that  hev  ter  du  with  a 
skunk?" 

"Oh,   nuthin'    much,"   said  Lisha,  "only  ye  see  that 


44  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

feller  was  a-shovin'  'long  the  best  he  knowed,  through  the 
woods  in  a  wood  road,  an'  fust  thing  he  run  spat  ont'  a 
skunk  aout  takin'  a  walk.  The  skunk  wouldn't  run,  an' 
he  wouldn't,  an'  it  turned  aout  con' try  to  scriptur.  The 
battle  was  to  the  strong,  an'  the  race  was  to  the  swift. 
The  schoolmarster  smelt  loud  'nough  to  fill  a  forty-acre 
lot,  an'  so  the'  wa'  n'  t  no  schoolmarster  t'  Chases'  nor  t' 
the  sugarin' -off ,  nor  t'  the  school  in  that  deestrick  that 
spring,  nor  nothin'  left  on  him  in  the  deestrick  but  his 
parfume.  So,  ye  see,  a  skunk  hed  suthin'  t'  du  with  his 
scaseness,  which  I  c'nsider  myself  c'nsid'able  beholden  to 
skunks." 

"  Bah  gosh,"  said  Antoine,  "  Ah  don'  fred  for  skonk, 
me  !  Ah  tek  hoi'  of  it  hees  tails  an'  lif  'im  aup,  he  can' 
do  sometings  !  No,  sah  !" 

"  'Twouldn't  make  no  diff'ence  tu  ye  if  he  did,"  said 
Lisha  ;  a  skunk's  nat-ral  weepon  hain't  nothin'  but  double 
d' stilled  biled-daown  essence  of  inyuns,  'n'  ye  couldn't 
hurt  a  Canuck  wi'  that." 

"  Bah  gosh,  guess  you  fin'  aout  'f  he  hurt  you,  you  git 
him  on  you  heyesight,  whedder  you  Canuck  or  somebody. 
Ant  it,  Peltiet,  hein  ?" 

Said  Solon  Briggs,  "  Might  I  arise  to  ask  you,  Antvvine, 
Anthony,  or  Anto-ni-o,  all  of  which  I  suppose  you  ter  be, 
haow  du  you  prevent  the  aout-squirtin'  of  the  viles  o' 
wrath  whilst  you  air  a-proachin'  of  the  mestiforious  quad 
ruple  head  ?" 

"  Wai,  M'sieu  Brigg,  dat  someting  you  got  t'  larn  bah 
— ah — what  you  call  it,  pracsit  ?" 

"  Perhaps  Peltier  'd  lend  ye  one  o*  his'n  to  practyseon, 
Solon,"  Lisha  suggested,  but  Solon  expressed  no  desire 
to  acquire  the  art  of  capturing  skunks  by  that  method. 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  45 

<4  They  raly  can't  scent  when  you  hoi'  'em  up  by  the 
tail,  V  that's  a  fact,"  said  Joseph  Hill.  "  I  remember 
onct  when  I  was  a  boy  ten  'r  dozen  year  ol' — I  d'know, 
mebby  I  was  fourteen — lemme  see,  'twas  the  year  't  father 
hed  the  brindle  caow  die 't  hed  twin  calves;  got  choked 
with  an  apple— no 't  wa' n't,  t'was  a  tater — they  was  fo' 
ye'r  oles  when  he  sole  'em,  the  fall  't  I  was  seventeen — 
no,  I  wa'n't  but  thirteen — the'  was  a  skunk  got  int'  the 
suller,  'n'  of  course  we  didn't  want  to  kill  'im  there,  so 
my  oldest  brother,  Lije,  he  took  a  holt  on  'im  by  the  tail 
an'  kerried  'im  aout  the  hatchway  with  a  pair  o'  tongs, 
an'  then  he  gin  'im  to  me,  an'  I  hel'  'im  up  while  he 
shot '  im.  He  put  the  ol'  gun  clus  to  his  head  an'  blovved 
'im  clean  aouten  the  tongs  as  fur  's  crost  this  shop,  'n' 
by  gol,  he  never  scent  one  mite  till  then,  no  more  'n'  a 
snowball." 

"  Did  he  die?"  asked  the  ever-alert  seeker  after  useful 
knowledge. 

"  Why,  yes,"  Joseph  replied,  "  he  jes'  stunk  hisself  to 
death,  then." 

"  Jozeff,"  said  Lisha,  "  that  'ere  puts  me  in  mind  of 
the  Paddy.  *  Divil  a  nade  o'  shootin'  him,'  says  he; 
'  lave  him  alone,  an'  sure  he'll  shtink  himself  to  death.' 
What  a  'tarnal  time  the  creeturs  du  hev  wi'  skunks  'fore 
they  git  'quainted  with  'em.  'Member  the  ol'  story  one 
on  'em  tol'  ?  What  was't,  Sam  ?" 

Sam  repeated  the  time  honored  tale.  "  '  The  furs  toime 
iver  I  wint  hoontin'  in  Ameriky  was  wan  day  whin  I  was 
gown  to  me  woruk,  an'  I  kilt  a  boird  call't  a  skoonk.  I 
threed  hur  undher  a  hayshtack  an'  shot  hur  wid  me 
sphade,  an'  the  furs  toime  I  hit  hur  I  misht  hur,  an'  the 
nixt  toime  I  hit  hur  where  I  misht  hur  afore.  An'  whin 


46  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

I  wint  to  plook  the  feathers  off  hur,  I  was  foorced  to  shkin 
hur,  an'  in  doun  that  I  sh truck  hur  ile  bag  or  hur  heart  I 
dunno,  an'  the  shmell  nearly  suffocaytit  me,  an'  I  was 
near  shtarvin'  afther,  for  divil  a  dhrink  cud  I  take,  but  the 
shmell  of  hur  was  in  me  noshtrils  to  kape  me  awake  all 
night.'  I  like  to  died,"  Sam  continued,  "  to  hear  Joel 
Bartlett's  Irishmun  tell  'baout  the  fust  skunk  't  he  ever 
met.  'Twas  when  he  was  in  Masschusitts,  '  Maxacushin  ' 
he  called  it.  He  ben  a-workin'  on  a  railroad,  an'  lived  in 
a  shanty  as  yit,  though  he  was  workin'  fer  a  farmer.  Says 
he,  *  I  wor  a-shpadin'  round  threes  ni  a  yoong  archard, 
an'  Tom  Egan,  the  divil,  was  in  id  wid  me,  an'  I  seen 
caperin'  troo  the  grass  a  foine  shlip  av  a  young  cat,  an' 
says  I  to  Tom,  says  I,  "  Begob,  I'll  capshure  it  to  kill  the 
mice  in  the  curse  o'  God  shanty  that's  near  dhrivin'  me 
dishthracktit. "  "  Do,"  says  he  to  me,  an'  the  divil  know- 
in'  in  his  own  moind  what  it  was.  An'  away  I  wint  in 
purshuit,  an'  whin  I  was  about  to  lay  me  two  hands  on  id, 
I  was  shtruck  in  me  face  an'  the  two  eyes  av  me  wid  a 
shtream  av  the  divil' s  own  wather,  an'  I  was  blindit  an' 
shtrangled  entirely.  But  I  joomped  on  the  baste  wid  me 
boots  an'  kilt  it,  I  was  that  choked  wid  rage,  an'  a  grea' 
d'l  beside,  an'  thin  I  wint  away  back  to  Tom,  but  divil  a 
near  him  wud  he  let  me  come,  the  bla'gyard,  an'  I  call't 
out,  "  Tom  !  "  says  I,  "  am  I  kilt  entirely,  an'  is  it  me,  or 
is  it  the  divil' s  father  of  a  baste  that  be's  makin'  the  noto 
rious  shtink  altogether?"  says  I.  "Begob!"  says  he, 
"  it's  the  both  ovyees,  an'  ye' 11  shmell  that  bad  an'  maybe 
worse  for  a  year,"  says  he.  "  Ah,  thin,"  I  cried,  "  millia 
murthers,  I'm  ruinaytit!"  an'  so  skoolked  away  home  to 
the  curse  o'  God  shanty,  an'  whin  I  wint  in  Biddy  an'  the 
childher  wint  out,  an'  I  had  the  shanty  an'  the  shmell  all 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  47 

to  meself.  Well,  I  berrit  me  clo's,  an'  I  sailed  back  an' 
forth  troo  the  pond  o'  wather  till  night,  but  divil  a  much 
betther  did  I  shmell  for  a  week.  Oh,  bad  luck  to  the 
counthry  that  nurtures  such  cats  ! '  ' 

"  Dat  Arish,"  Antoine  remarked,  "  a'nt  spik  so  good 
Angleesh  lak  Ah  do,  don't  it  ?" 

The  slim  candle  in  the  sconce  had  burned  so  low  that 
when  Lisha  attempted  to  snuff  it  with  his  fingers  he  pulled 
it  out  and  it  dropped  upon  the  floor,  and  sputtering  out, 
left  the  shop  in  darkness  except  for  the  thin  streaks  of 
firelight  that  shone  through  the  cracks  of  the  stove  and  the 
dim  rays  of  stars  slanting  in  at  the  little  window.  The  mis 
hap  was  accepted  as  a  unanimous  vote  of  adjournment, 
and  stumbling  and  groping  their  way  to  the  door,  Lisha' s 
guests  again  departed. 


VI. 

HOW   ZENE    BURNHAM    COME   IT   ON    HIS   FATHER. 

THE  first  snowfall  of  the  season  was  sifting  down  on  the 
little  valley  from  a  dull  sky  one  November  evening  when 
Lisha'  s  friends  began  to  gather  in  his  little  shop.  Each  one, 
as  he  entered  and  stamped  the  snow  off  his  boots,  made  some 
remark  concerning  this  latest  turn  of  the  weather,  as  in 
duty  bound  by  ancient  usage:  "  Snowin',"  "  Snowin' 
c'nsid'able  kind  o'  smart,"  "  Gittin'  some  snow  at  last/' 
said  one  and  another,  and  one  ventured  to  "  guess  't 
we're  goin'  to  git  some  sleighin'  fur  Thanksgiving  arter 
all." 

1 '  Wai,  I  d'  know  '  baout  that, ' '  said  the  oracular  Solon 
Briggs,  seating  himself  in  the  best  place  behind  the  stove, 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  hands  spread  to  catch 
the  heat ;  "  I  knowed  'at  't  was  goin'  to  snow,  an'  said  't 
was,  an'  it  does  snow,  but  I  took  a  notice  every  sen'  I 
commenced  my  pilligridge  (I  wou'  say,  my  pilgigrim)  that 
when  the  snow  comes  on  ter  the  graound  when  it's  con- 
joled — that  is,  when  it's  froze,  it  hain't  a-goin'  t'  stay  on 
an'  en-duiQ  long.  Why  it  is  I  do'  know,  but  so  it  is  as 
fur  as  my  observations  has  went." 

"  Honh  !"  snorted  Lisha,  who  was  rummaging  a  shelf 
for  a  desired  last ;  "  mebby  so,  but  I  guess — No.  12,  that's 
it— I  guess  't  we'll  hev  sleighin'  fur  Thanksgivin' .  But 
dum  the  sleighin',  I  wish  't  I  hed  a  turkey  fer  Thanks- 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  49 

givin'  's  big  's  what  my  boy  't  lives  in  the  'Hio  tells  o5 
hevin'  there,  wild  ones,  tu,  't  weighs  thirty,  forty  paound  ! 
What  ye  think  o'  that  ?' ' 

"  I  daoubt  it,"  was  Sam  Lovel's  laconic  response,  and 
there  was  a  stir  of  approval  in  the  audience. 

"  Daoubt  it  !"  shouted  Lisha.  "  Good  airth  an'  seas  ! 
my  boy  wouldn' t  lie  an  aounce  on  the  weight  of  a  ele 
phant.  Thirty  V  forty  paound,  that's  what  he  writ. " 

"  Wai,  I  daoubt  it, "  Sam  repeated  ;  "  jes'  think  on  't, 
that's  mos'  half  as  much  as  Cap'n  Power's  hawg  weighed, 
'n'  he  was  a  sollaker,  ye  know.  Turkeys  ain't  in  the 
habit  o'  growin'  so  big." 

"  Not  here,  I  know  they  hain't,"  Lisha  admitted. 

"  No,"  Solon  interrupted,  "  fer  it  hain't  their  nart'ral 
climax.  They  hain't  abregoines  here."  * 

"  No,"  Lisha  continued,  "  'n'  then  things  grows  bigger 
there  'n'  what  they  does  here.  Why,  the  corn  grows  so 
high  't  they  have  to  climb  up  a  ladder  to  bind  the  stocks, 
'n'  my  boy  writ  't  the  punkins  grow'd  so  big  in  the  'Hio 
that  a  six-foot  man  stan'in'  stret  up  couldn't  tech  the  top 
on  'em  !  What  ye  think  o'  that  ?" 

"Oh,  shawl  Git  aout  !  Go  to  grass!"  were  the 
comments  on  this  statement. 

"  Yes,  boys,  it's  sartinly  so,"  Lisha  persisted,  with  the 
twinkle  of  his  eyes  showing  through  his  dim  glasses.  "  I 
didn't  scacely  b'lieve  it  myself,  'n'  I  sot  down  'n'  writ 
George  a  letter  'n'  ast  'im  ef  that  was  r'aly  so,  an'  he  writ 
back  it  sartinly  was. .  A  six-foot  man  couldn't  tech  the 
top  o'  one  on  'em — not  'thaout  stoopin'  jest  a  lee-tie. 
Haw!  Haw  !  Haw!  Ho  !" 

*  Solon  is  supposed  to  have  meant  aborigines. 


50  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

"  Oh,  aw,"  said  Solon.  "  Yes,  George  writ  ironical, 
in  sportyve  jeest,  as  it  ware." 

"  Wai,"  said  Lisha,  when  he  had  done  laughing,  and 
had  got  the  last  inside  of  a  great  boot  that  needed  tapping, 
"  le's  p'cede  to  business,  's  they  say  in  the  leegislatur. 
We  was  talkin'  'baout  aowls  t'  other  night,  wa'n't  we? 
Solon  he  tol'  what  made  'em  hoot,  'n'  Jozeff  he  tol' 
'baout  shootin'  one.  Hain't  ye  got  nothin'  furder  con- 
cernin'  the  faowl,  Jozeff?" 

"Id'  know,"  Joseph  Hill  responded.  "  Lemme  see. 
Didn't  none  on  ye  never  hear  how  Zene  Burnham  come 
it  on  his  father  ?" 

If  any  one  had  heard  it  he  made  no  sign,  and  Joseph 
proceeded  with  his  tale. 

' '  Yes,  sir,  his  own  father  !  Oh,  what  a  darned  crutter 
he  was  !  Ye  know  the'  hain't  no  spring  nigh  the  ole 
man's,  so  they've  got  a  well  ;  puty  good  water,  tew — that 
is,  for  water,  with  a  reg'lar  ole-fashion  sweep — do'  know 
though,  mebby  they've  got  in  a  pump  naow.  Lemme 
see,  didn't  Morrison  sell  'm  a  pump  ?  Seem  t'  me 't  he 
did.  Wai,  't  do'  make  no  diffunce,  they  hed  a  well- 
sweep  then.  One  night  in  the  fall — I  guess  'twas  ;  yes, 
know  'twas  well  'nough,  for  fall's  the  aowliesttime  o'  year 
— Zene  he  come  tippy toein'  int'  the  haouse  'n'  spoke  low 
t'  the  ol'  man,  an'  says  he,  '  Father,  the's  the  all-tummut- 
tablest  gret  hoot  aowl  a-settin'  on  the  top  o'  the  well- 
sweep  !  Git  the  gun  an'  shoot  'im.  You  c'n  shoot  better 
'n  I  can  in  the  dark.'  The  ol'  man  kinder  thought  Zene 
was  a-foolin'  on  'im,  but  Zene  said  for  'im  to  go  an'  see 
forhisself ;  so  the  ole  man  got  the  gun,  'n'  'twas  loaded  for 
fox,  an'  stuck  a  piece  o'  white  paper  ont'  the  sight,  an' 
crep'  aout  the  back  door  'n'  raound  t'  the  naw-west  corner 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  51 

o'  the  haouse — lemme  see;  no,  'twas  the  naw-east — no 
twa'n't  nuther,  'twas  the  naw-west  corner — an'  peeked 
raound,  'n'  there  he  seen  the  aowl,  an  ol'  whopper,  settin' 
up  there,  jes'  as  demiite  !  An'  he  drawed  up  an'  took 
dead  aim,  he  did,  'n'  onhitched,  'n'  the  aowl  never  stirred  ! 
'  Wai,  I'll  be  dummed  to  dumnation,'  says  he,  *  What  'n 
thunderation  's  the  motter  I  didn't  kill  Mm?  You  ben 
drawin'  the  shot  aouten  this  gun,  Zene  ? '  'Hain't 
teched  the  darned  ol'  gun,'  says  Zene.  '  You  hit  'im  in 
the  head  an'  stunted  'im  ;  load  up  an'  give  'im  'nother 
dost,'  says  he.  So  they  went  back  in  an'  loaded  up  agin, 
an'  the  ol'  man  crep'  aout  agin,  'n'  there  sot  the  aowl  yit, 
an'  the  ol'  man  blazed  away  agin,  'n'  by  gosh  !  the  aowl 
never  stirred  agin  !  Then  the  ol'  man  he  swore  it  beat 
the  devil,  if 't  wa'n't  the  devil  hisself,  but  Zene  tole  'im  't 
he  knowed  he'd  killed  'im.  'Pull  daown  the  sweep,' 
says  he,  '  'n'  git  'im.  He's  sartinly  deader  'n  hay.'  So 
the  ol'  man  sot  daown  the  gun  an'  begin  tu  pull  daown 
the  sweep  jes'  as  keerful,  a-watchin'  the  aowl  all  the  time 
as  he  come  daown,  never  makin'  a  motion.  When  he 
git  him  clus  tu  an'  was  jest  a-goin'  to  take  a  holt  on  'im, 
he  seen  't  wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  all-fired  gret  big  cabbage 
tied  on  t'  the  end  of  the  sweep  !  My  !  'f  the  ol'  man 
wa'n't  mad  !  Zene  he  put  er  for  in  t'  the  haouse  'n'  up 
stairs  'n'  int'  bed,  'n'  by  mornin'  the  ol'  man  hed  got 
good  natur'd  agin,  but  ye  didn't  want  to  say  '  aowl'  to 
him  right  off." 

"Did  he  hit  the  cabbage?"  was  asked  by  him  of  an 
inquiring  turn  of  mind. 

' '  Those  '  ere  saw- whet  aowls, ' '  Solon  Briggs  remarked, 
clearing  his  throat,  "  is  a  curosity  thing — a  f rik  o'  natur' 
comin'  daown  to  her  onsignificantest  teches— a  nart'ral 


52  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

fewnonnymon,  so  to  speak.  A  puffick  aowl,  minus  the 
gretness  of  the  die-mentionist  kinds." 

"Wai,  they  be  small,  but  reg'lar  aowls,"  said  Sam 
Lovel.  ' '  Cut  the  head  off  '  m  one  '  n'  he  '  11  lack  a  aounce  o' 
weighin'.  I  shot  one  on  'em  outen  a  tree  jes'  to  see  what 
he  was,  'n'  he  come  a-floatin'  daown  julluk  a  bunch  o' 
feathers." 

"An'  their  vocal  voice,"  put  in  Solon,  "is  the  fact 
smile  of  sharpnin'  a  saw." 

"  Guess  't  is,"  said  Sam,  "  egg-zack  !  Makes  me  think 
o'  one  time  t'  oP  Mist'  Van  Brunt  f'm  New  York  's  up 
here  a-lookin'  arter  his  lumbrin'  intrus.  'Twas  long  airly 
'n  the  spring  'n'  he  was  ridin'  'long  hoss-back  'n  the 
evenin',  'n'  when  he  got  daown  int'  Stunny  Brook  holler, 
he  hearn  someb'dy  a-filin'  a  sawmill  saw,  screet  er  scree/, 
er  screet  er.  '  Some  o'  them  dum  maounting  Aribs, '  says 
he,  '  hes  got  a  sawmill  right  here  in  the  hairt  o'  my 
woods  !  Hello  you  !  '  he  hollered,  but  the  file  kep' 
a-goin',  screet  er  screet,  er  screet !  '  You  owdacious 
villing  !  '  says  he — he  allus  used  high  duck  langwuage — 
1  you  owdacious  villing  !  I'll  prosecute  ye  to  the  extents 
o'  the  law, '  says  he,  and  he  rid  his  hoss  int'  the  woods 
where  he  hearn  the  noise,  'n'  his  sto'pipe  hat  ketched  on 
a  limb  an'  tumbled  off,  'n'  his  hoss  stumbled  agin  a  ruht 
'n'  throwed  ;im  off,  'n'  then  the  noise  o'  filin'  stopped, 
'n'  then  in  two,  three  minutes  it  begin  agin  furder  off. 
'  The  pirutical  scoundril, '  says  the  ol'  gentleman,  '  hez 
got  his  dum  sawmill  on  wheels  !  '  'n'  he  got  back  int' 
tthe  path  an'  rid  ont'  the  tarvern  'thaout  no  hat.  When  he 
got  there  he  toP  Hamlin  (he  kep'  it  then)  what  he'd  hearn, 
'n'  Hamlin  he  laughed,  'n'  says  he,  '  Mist'  Van  Brunt,  't 
wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  saw-whet  't  you  hearn.'  'A  saw- 


UNCLE   LISHA'S  SIIO2\  53 

whet  !  '  says  th'  ol'  gentleman,  '  I  know  it,  but  a  two- 
legged  saw- whet,  sir.'  '  Yes,'  says  Hamlin,  '  two-legged, 
but  he  wears  feathers  stiddy  clo's,'  'n'  'xplained.  Then 
the  ol'  gentleman  laughed  at  hisself,  an'  treated  the  hull 
craowd,  a  dozen  on  'em,  to  ole  Jamaiky  sperrits  't  he 
brought  with  him  f'm  York — twenty  ye'r  ole,  they  said  't 
was." 

"Gosh!"  ejaculated  Joseph  Hill,  with  a  watering 
mouth,  "  wish  't  I'd  a  ben  there  !" 

"  Ben  where  ?"   asked  he  of  the  inquiring  mind. 
'  The  study  of  nart'ral  hist'ry  things, "  Solon  remarked, 
"  is  a   most   stumenduous   subjeck,    cal'lated  to   fill    the 
human  mind  of  man  with — er — er — ah — " 

"  Puddin'  an'  milk,"  shouted  Lisha,  as  he  drove  the 
last  peg  in  the  wide  sole  of  the  boot,  "  V  I  'tend  to  ha' 
some'  an'  go  to  bed. ' ' 

So  saying  he  took  off  his  battle-scarred  apron,  and  his 
guests  departed,  and  faded  with  silent  footsteps  into  the 
dusky  whiteness  of  the  snowy  night. 


VII. 

A   RAINY   DAY   IN   THE   SHOP. 

ONE  gloomy  day  in  November  several  of  Uncle  Lisha's 
friends,  realizing  the  fact  that  it  rained  too  hard  to  ' '  work 
aou'  door,"  that  it  was  too  wet  even  for  comfortable  hunt 
ing,  and  that  it  was  too  late  in  the  season  for  fishing,  be 
took  themselves  singly  and  in  couples  to  the  shop  to  pass 
away  the  time  which  hung  with  unendurable  heaviness 
upon  their  hands  at  home.  There  was  a  genial  warmth 
radiating  from  the  full  fed  rusty  little  stove,  and  a  mild 
sunshine  from  the  kindly  face  of  the  old  shoemaker  that 
made  the  rude  interior  seem  exceedingly  comfortable  in 
contrast  with  the  dismal  chill  and  dampness  of  the  out 
door  world,  and  the  clatter  of  the  hammer  on  the  lapstone 
was  a  much  more  cheerful  sound  than  the  leaden  patter  of 
the  rain  on  roof  and  pane  and  fallen  leaves.  But  though 
trie  new-comers  gave  some  impassive  signs  of  appreciation 
of  the  change  from  out-door  discomfort  to  in-door  com 
fort,  they  seemed  to  have  brought  in  with  them  too  much 
of  the  exterior  atmosphere  ;  it  exhaled  from  their  wet  gar 
ments  and  dulled  spirits  till  their  host  felt  it  and  resented  it. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  boys,  what's  the  motter  ails  ye, 
all  on  ye?  Ye  ain't  no  sociabler ''n  a  passel  o*  snails 
holdin'  a  meetin'  'n  under  a  cabbage  leaf!  'Tain't  a 
fun'el.  By  mighty,  it's  wus,  for  the'  hain't  no  preachin' 
ner  singin',  ner  even  sighthin'  nercryin'.  Why  don't  some 


UNCLE   LISffA'S   SHOP.  55 

on  ye  up  an'  die  an'  kinder  liven  up  things  a  leetle  mite, 
hey?" 

While  Solon  Briggs  was  swelling  up  with  explanatory 
words  too  big  for  speedy  utterance,  Joseph  Hill  remarked, 
as  he  searched  all  his  pockets  for  the  pipe  and  tobacco 
that  he  never  knew  where  to  find,  "  I  'spect,  as  Joel  Bart- 
lett  says  when  he  takes  a  notion  to  start  off  on  a  preachin' 
taower,  'at  we've  all  on  us  got  a  weighty  consarn  on  aour 
mind,  Uncle  Lisher. " 

"  Wai,  Jozeff  hes  spoke,  an'  that's  incouragin'.  Naow, 
let  another,  as  Brother  Foot  says  in  prayer-meetin'." 

"  Jozeff' s  speakin',"  continued  Uncle  Lisha,  after  wait 
ing  a  moment  for  a  response,  "  puts  me  in  mind  o'  his 
dawg  'at  he  uster  hev,  'at  nob'dy  never  knowed  to  du 
nothin'  on'y  eat  an'  sleep,  an'  bark  a'  folks  goin'  'long 
'baout  the'  business,  an'  at  the  moon  nights,  when  folks 
was  extry  tired  an'  wantin'  t'  sleep  more  'n  common  but 
couldn't,  'caount  o'  his  'tarnal  bow-wowin'  an'  yollopin'. 
Jozeff,  howsever,  was  allus  a-tellin'  what  a  good  dawg 
he  was,  an'  even  went  the  len'th  o'  sayin'  't  he  was  ham- 
some  !  A  yaller  dawg,  an'  harnsome  !  Hain't  that  so, 
Jozeff  ?  Don't  ye  deny  it  !"  he  roared,  glaring  at  his  visit 
or  between  his  eyebrows  and  the  rims  of  his  spectacles,  as 
he  began  to  fashion  a  slow,  dubious  "  wal  "  with  his  lips. 
"Yes,"  he  continued,  "good  an'  harnsome,  he  said  he 
was.  You  never  seen  a  man  'at  hed  him  a  dawg  'at 
wa'n't  a-braggin'  'baout  him  on  some  pint.  That's  one 
reason  'at  I  don't  hev  me  a  dawg.  I  hain't  no  gift  o' 
braggin*.  'Nuther  is,  I  hain't  no  use  for  a  dawg  in  my 
business.  Wal,"  picking  out  the  soggy  "heel"  of  his 
pipe  with  a  crooked  awl,  "  one  day  when  Sam  will  here 
an'  'mongst  'em  was  exhaltin'  of  the'  horns  an'  a-blowin' 


56  UNCLE   LIS/fA'S   SHOP. 

on  'em  'baout  the'  haoun'  dawgs,  Jozeff  he  up  an'  begin 
blowin'  his'n  abaout  his'n.  Someb'dy  nuther  ast  him, 
'  What'll  he  du  ?  Did  he  ever  tree  a  coon  ? '  '  No,'  says 
Jozeff.  '  Er  hole  a  woo'chuck  ? '  *  No.'  '  Er  drive  a 
k'yow  er  a  hawg  ?  '  '  Wai,  not  ezackly  drive  'em.'  '  Er 
ta'  keer  o'  the  haouse  ?  '  '  Wai,  he's  allus  there,  but  I 
do'  know  's  he  raly  takes  keer  on't.'  '  Wai,  then,  what 
on  airth  is  he  good  for?'  'Wai,'  says  Jozeff,  says  he, 
arter  c'nsid'able  c'nsid'rin',  'he's  comp'ny!'  An'," 
said  Uncle  Lisha  when  he  had  blown  through  his  pipe  after 
clearing  the  stem  with  a  waxed  end,  "  I'll  be  dum'd  'f 
I  wouldn't  druther  hev  Jozeff  Hill's  ol'  yaller  dawg  for 
comp'ny  'n  t'  hev  sech  a  consarned  mumpin'  set  as  you 
be." 

The  only  responses  were  a  general  though  feeble  and 
perfunctory  laugh  and  an  apologetic  remark  from  Solon 
Briggs  that  "  when  the  caloric  of  the  warmth  had  pene 
trated  the  water  aouten  their  garments  they  would  be  more 
conversationabler,"  which  Antoine  endeavored  to  make 
more  easily  comprehended  by  explaining,  "  Yas,  One' 
Lasha,  when  we'll  gat  aour  froze  t'aw  aout  we'll  got  aour 
speak  t'aw  aout." 

A  little  later  the  constant  searcher  for  information  broke 
the  silence  by  asking  Joseph  Hill,  "  Whatever  be  become 
o'  that  'ere  dawg  'at  Uncle  Lisher  ben  speakin'  on  ?" 

"  M'ri  sol'  him  tu  a  peddler,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  sigh 
of  regret  for  his  lost  companion.  "  M'ri  didn't  never  set 
no  gret  store  by  dawgs,  though  the'  be  women  'at  likes  to 
hev  a  dawg  'raound,  for  all  the'  makin'  b'lieve  hate  'em 
— likes  to  hev  'em  'raound  to  lay  things  onter,  bad  smells 
an'  sech,  an'  broken  airthenware,  an'  t'  'buse — wal,  I  do' 
know  as  'buse  ezackly,  but  tu  vent  the'  feelin's  on.  But 


UNCLE   LIMA'S   SHOP.  57 

M'ri  never  'bused  Liern,  though  I  don't  think  he  raly 
'nj'yed  her  comp'ny,  'specially  moppin'  days  an'  when 
she  was  sweepin'  aout." 

"  Wai,  I  do'  know's  I  blame  anybody  much  for  mum- 
pin'  sech  weather,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  relenting,  as  while 
he  ground  the  pegs  from  the  inside  of  a  newly-tapped 
boot  he  gazed  abstractedly  out  of  the  rain-pelted  little 
window  upon  the  blurred  landscape  ;  the  sodden  dun 
fields  bounded  by  the  gray  wall  of  mountain  with  its  drift 
ing  coping  of  mist — all  dun  and  gray  but  for  one  poplar 
that  shone  like  a  pale  flame  among  the  ashy  trunks  and 
branches  of  its  burned-out  companions,  and  when  a  gust 
fanned  it,  showered  down  its  yellow  leaves  like  sparks 
from  a  flaring  torch.  "  I  do'  know  's  I  blame  any  on  ye 
much  ;  sech  weather  's  tumble  hefty  on  the  sperits.  'F  I 
hed  me  a  pint,  er  mebby  a  quart  o'  cider  brandy,  er  ol' 
Jamacky  sperits,  I  raly  b'lieve  I'd  git  so  condemned  boozy 
't  I  couldn't  see  aouten  the  winder — 'f  't  wa'n't  for  makin' 
an'  mendin'  these  'ere  dum'd  ol'  boots  an'  shoes,  I 
would,  by  golly  blue  !" 

"  I  snum  !  I  sh'ld  like  ter  help  ye,  Uncle  Lisher, "  said 
Joseph  Hill,  smacking  his  lips. 

'  'N'  it's  mos'  Thanksgivin'  time,"  Lisha  went  on  ; 
"  I  b'lieve  the  day's  ben  sot  by  the  Gov'ner,  hain't  it? 
Seem's  'ough  I  seen  it  in  the  last  V'monler.  Jerushy  !" 
He  called  so  loudly  and  suddenly  that  it  startled  all  his 
guests,  and  again  "  Jerushy  !"  with  a  roar  that  made  the 
battered  stove-pipe  jingle.  "  Be  you  deaf  or  be  you 
dead  ?' ' 

"  What — on— airth  ?"  asked  the  mildly  astonished  old 
matron  as  she  opened  the  door  just  wide  enough  to  let 
her  nose  and  voice  into  the  shop. 


58  UNCLE   US  HAS  SHOP. 

"  Gim  me  that  'ere  last  paper  ;  I  wanter  see  'f  Thanks- 
givin'  Day  's  'pinted.  It's  eyther  in  the  Stan'  draw,  erless 
in  the  cub'd,  'f  ye  hain't  got  some  o'  yer  everlastin'  yarbs 
spread  onter  it  in  the  chahmber. ' ' 

"  Yarbs  !"  Aunt  Jerusha  replied  from  the  "  house 
part,"  where  she  could  be  heard  wrestling  with  the  refrac 
tory  stand  drawer,  and  then  rummaging  among  papers, 
"  why,  good  land  o'  Goshen,  Lisher,  my  yarbs  was  all 
dried  an'  in  the'  bags  'fore  over  that  'ere  paper  thought  o' 
bein'  printed  !  Naow,  seem  's  'ough  you  took  it  to 
wrap  up  Miss  Bartlett's  bootees  in  t'other  day.  Oh,  no, 
here  't  is" — reappearing  in  the  doorway — "  I  b'lieve,  le' 
me  see,"  "  tromboning"  the  paper  to  get  the  proper  focus 
of  her  glasses,  "  October  the  thirty — yes  ;  here,  Lisher," 
groping  her  way  to  her  lord  through  the  tobacco  smoke 
and  rubbish  and  legs  of  visitors,  and  then  as  through  the 
reek  she  began  to  recognize  one  and  another — "  Oh,  hope 
I  see  ye  well,  Mr.  Briggs  an'  Mr.  Hill.  Miss  Briggs  an' 
Miss  Hill,  be  they  well  ?  Tumble  spell  o'  weather  we're 
a-hevin'  on.  Why,  haow  du  you  du,  Sam  will  ?  Be  you 
well,  Antwine  ?  an'  haow's  your  womern  ?  My!  haow 
you  men  du  smoke  !  I  can't  scasely  see  who's  who. 
Wai,  I  s'pose  terbarker  is  comfortin'  sech  weather  for 
them  'at  c'nstan'  it,  but  I  never  could,"  and  she  retreated, 
tapping  her  snuff-box  as  she  went. 

"As  if  snuff  wa'n't  terbarker!"  Uncle  Lisha  snorted 
after  her.  "  Le's  see,"  spreading  the  paper  on  his  knees 
and  staring  at  it  naked-eyed  while  he  wiped  his  glasses  on 
his  shirt  sleeve  ;  then,  adjusting  them  astride  his  nose  with 
unusual  care.  "  Le'  me  see — '  Scott  an'  Raymon'  offer 
— m — m — *  Partrick  Foster,  groceries  an'  p' visions'  (an' 
hoss  rum)  m — m — m — '  B.  Seym'r,  hats  an'  caps  an' 


UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP.  59 

highest  price  fer  fur' — oh,  here  't  is — '  Proclermatiern  by 
the  Gov'ner— 'Cordin'  to  suthin'  nuther  usage  'n'  so  f'th, 
'n'  so  f'th,  hm — m — m — I  du  hereby  'pint  Thursd'y  the 
twenty-sev'mph  day  o'  November  as  a  day  o'  thanksgivinV 
Wonder  what  they  all  us  hev  it  come  a  Thursd'y  for,  and 
Fast  Day  Frid'y  ?  Dum'd  'f  I  know.  An'  'lection  day 
an'  taown  meetin'  an'  the  leegislatur'  begin  settin'  a 
Tuesd'y.  Mebby  that's  so  's  't  the  men  c'n  hev  clean 
shirts  on  ;  though  the'  hain't  time  for  i'nin  on  'em — more 
likely  it's  cause  the  men  folks  is  fresh  f'm  the  disciplyne 
o'  washin'  day,  an'  more  cal'lated  to  du  the'  duty.  Hm  ! 
so  Thanksgivin'  comes  tew  weeks  f'm  nex'  Thursd'y,  hey  ? 
What  be  I  goin'  t'  du  f'r  a  turkey,  I  sh'  like  t'  know  ? 
We  hain't  raised  none,  an'  I  can't  'ford  to  buy  one,  an' 
I've  got  tu  ol'  an'  dim-sighted  t'  shoot  one  tu  a-shootin' 
match — do'  know  's  the'  's  goin'  t'  be  one,  anyway." 

"  Yas,"  some  one  said,  "  Hamner  's  layin'  'aout  t' 
hev  a  turkey  shoot,  Thanksgivin'." 

"  Ya-us,"  Joseph  Hill  contemptuously  assented,  "he's 
a-cal' latin'  tu  hev  what  might  posserbly  be  called  a 
turkey  shoot.  He's  got  him  fifteen  er  twenty  leetle  teenty 
tawnty  faowls  't  he  calls  turkeys — hatched  in  August,  do' 
know  's  they  was  fore  September,  nary  one  on  'em  bigger 
'n  a  cardy  bird  * — do'  know  but  they  be  bigger  'n  cardy 
birds,  but  pleggid  little  to  speak  on,  an'  he'll  set  'em  up 
forty  rod,  I  do'  know  but  fifty,  at  a  York  shillin'  a  shot ! 
The'  hain't  nob'dy,  erless  it's  Sam  here,  c'ld  hit  one 
shootin'  a  week  that  fur  off.  'N'  one  on  'em  would  n't 
more  'n  go  'raound  'mong  tew  hearty  folks — do'  know  's 
the'  'Id  be  'nough  for  tew.  He  hedn't  ort  to  set  'em  up 
not  to  say  more  '  n  fifteen  er  twenty  rod,  ner  ast  over  'n' 

*  Nuthatch. 


60  UXCLE  LISIJA'  S   SHOP. 

above  fo'p'nce  ha'p'ny  a  shot,  at  sech  leetle  tee'nty  tawnty 
insi'nificant  creeturs,  an'  then  he'd  make  money  aout  on 
'em." 

"  Hamner  is  tew  narrer-c'ntracted  an'  peniverous  tu  be 
very  satisfactual  tu  his  pairings,"  Solon  Briggs  remarked. 
"  He  is  a  very  parsinumerous  man. " 

"Did  ye  notice  haow  Solon's  bloat  went  daown," 
Joseph  whispered  huskily,  nudging  with  his  elbow  the  ribs 
of  his  neighbor  on  the  seat  behind  the  stove,  "  when  he 
got  them  big  words  aouten  on  him  ?' '  He'll  hev  one  on 
'em  in  him  some  day  'at' 11  swell  up  an'  bust  him  'fore  he 
gits  red  on't,  see  'f  he  don't.  Do*  know  's  it'll  bust  him, 
but  it'll  strain  his  riggin'  turribly — yes,"  he  said  aloud,  in 
confirmation  of  Solon's  opinion  of  the  unpopular  landlord, 
"  he's  all  o'  them.  They  du  say  as  he  waters  his  ol' 
Medford  rum  'at  costs  him  thirty  cents  a  gallern,  an'  him 
a-sellin'  on't  at  fo'pence  ha'p'ny  a  glass.  Anyways,  it's 
dreffle  weak.  A  man  'ould  git  draounded  in't  'fore  he'd 
git  tu  feelin'  good  on't.  I  guess  he  would  putty  nigh." 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !  I  don't  b'lieve  the  critter  keeps 
nothin'  but  hoss  rum.  Tew  drinks  on't  clear  'ould  knock 
a  feller  higher  'n  Gilderoy's  kite,  so  it's  a  massy  to  them 
'at  drinks  it  'at  he  does  thin  it  wi'  water,"  said  Uncle  Lisha, 
as  he  generously  daubed  the  edges  of  the  tap  with  lamp 
black  and  oil.  "  I  tell  ye  what  you  du,  Sam  will.  You 
gwup  to  Hamner' s  turkey  shoot  an'  git  me  a  turkey — git 
tew 'f  ye'r  aminter,  an'  comet'  aour  Thanksgivin' .  The' 
'  11  be  a  turkey  for  me  an'  Jerushy,  an'  one  for  you — one  for 
us  tew  an'  one  for  you  tew,  's  the  Irishmun  said  when  he 
was  dividin'  the  four  dollars  'twixt  himself  an'  his  tew 
frinds.  Er  she  c'n  hev  the  necks  o'  both — she's  allus  a- 
tellin'  haow  the  necks  is  the  bes'  part  of  a  faowl,  an'  you 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  61 

'n'  I'll  take  the  stuffin'  an'  what's  left.  I'll  pay  for  tew 
shots  an'  you  pay  for  tew,  an'  'f  you  can't  git  tew  turkeys 
aout  o'  four  shots  you  hain't  the  man  't  I  take  ye  t'  be. 
What  d'  yo'  say,  Sam  will  ?" 

"  I'd  a  good  deal  druther  git  ye  some  patridges,  Uncle 
Lisher.  Dum  this  blazin'  away  at  a  poor  mis' able  turkey 
sot  top  of  a  barrel  with  his  laigs  tied,  scairt  half  to  death 
with  the  balls  zippin'  raound  him.  'Tain't  no  fun  for  me. 
I'd  druther  go  out  in  the  woods  an'  git  ye  tew  three 
patridges. ' ' 

"  Well,  patridges  then,"  said  the  shoemaker  ;  "  I  don't 
keer,  on'y  patridges  ain't  ezackly  sech  reg'lar  Thanksgivin' 
meat  as  turkeys  is." 

"  But  the'  's  more  meat  in  one  good  Tom  patridge  'an 
the'  is  in  the  hull  flock  o'  Hamner's  turkeys,"  said  Joseph 
Hill.  Then,  after  a  little  consideration  of  this  statement, 
"Wai,  I  do'  know 's  the  hull  on 'em,  but  half  on  'em,  say." 

"  Wai,  then,  call  it  patridges,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  with  a 
sigh  of  resignation.  "  We'll  go  it  on  punkin  pie  an' 
patridges.  Will  ye  git 'em,  Sam  will  ?" 

"  You  sh'll  hev  'em,  Uncle  Lisher,"  Sam  said,  sitting 
upright  from  leaning  against  the  wall,  his  promise  empha 
sized  by  the  creak  of  the  roll  of  sole  leather  he  sat  upon, 
'  'f  ihe's  any  in  the  woods." 

"  Oh,  the  woods  is  popular  with  'em,"  said  Solon. 

"  I  scairt  one  aouten  my  woodshed  yist'd'y  mornin',  er 
mebby  'twas  day  'fore  yist'd'y  mornin' — any  ways,  I  scairt 
one  aout  on' t  when  I  went  aout  arter  kin'lin',  an'  I  tol' 
M'ri  on't." 

"  Proberly  the' s  so  much  wood  in  your  shed,  Jozeff,  'at 
he  thought  he  was  in  the  woods,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  whit 
tling  a  plug  of  tobacco  on  his  cutting-board. 


62  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

"  Bah  gosh  !"  cried  Antoine,  who  had  long  suffered 
with  silence,  "  'f  dey  don't  tick  in  de  hwood  !  an'  he 
don't  'fraid  more  as  hen  was.  Bah  gosh  !  'todder  day,  seh. 
when  Ah' 11  was  be  choppin'  in  de  hwood  dey  was  one  of 
it  flewed  raght  in  ma  face,  an'  Ah' 11  bite  Iiees  head  wid  ma 
mouf !  Ah' 11  peek  ma  toof  more  as  two  nour  fore  Ah' 11 
gotde  fedderoff  of  it.  Bah  gosh  !  Ah' 11  got  a11  de  patridge 
Ah' 11  wan'  for  heat  more  as  dis  year,  dat  tarn,  me." 

"  Git  Antwine  to  set  his  maouth  an'  ketch  ye  some," 
Joseph  suggested. 

"  He'd  pizon  'em  with  his  dum  peasoup  lies,"  growled 
Uncle  Lisha,  as  he  brushed  the  tobacco  into  his  hand  and 
began  grinding  it  between  his  palms.  "  Say,  Sam  will, 
haow  was  you  a-cal' latin'  to  spend  yer  Thanksgivin'  this 
year?  Naow,  'f  yer  goin'  huntin'  for  me,  I  want  ye  t' 
'tend  right  tu  yer  huntin'  an'  nothin'  else." 

There  was  a  roguish  twinkle  in  the  corner  of  the  eye 
nearest  the  reclining  hunter  as  the  old  man  asked,  "  Boys, 
I  do'  know's  I  ever  tol'  ye  'baout  this  'ere  gret  hunter' sa- 
goin'  foxhuntin'  one  Thanksgivin'  Day  back  o'  Pur'n't'n's, 
did  I?" 

"  Uncle  Lisher,"  Sam  drawled  in  a  slow,  impressive 
monotone,  "  if  you  raly  want  me  tu  git  you  some  patridges 
for  Thanksgivin',  you  don't  wantertell  no  stories  baout  rny 
Thanksgivin' s." 

' '  You  mean  it,  Sam  will  ?'  Lisha  asked,  pausing  in  the 
lighting  of  his  pipe  till  the  match  began  to  fry  the  wax  on 
his  thumb. 

"  Sartinly  I  du,"  Sam  answered. 

"  Wai,  then,"  said  Lisha,  "  I  want  them  patridges,  an' 
I  got  t'  hev  'em,"  and  though  Antoine  cried,  "  Tol'  it, 
One'  Lasha,  tol'  it  !  What  you  cared  ?  Bah  gosh  !  Ah' 11 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  63 

know  where  dat  turkey  Hamny's  roos',  an'  'f  Ah  don't  gat 
you  more  turkey  as  you'll  heat  an'  A'n'  Jerrushy  in  four 
day,  Ah' 11  give  you  masef  for  roas'  !  Ah' 11  bet  you  head, 
boy,  dat  Sam  shoot  fox  an'  he'll  ant  hit  heem  !"  and 
though  all  beset  him  importunately,  the  old  man  utterly 
refused  to  tell  the  story,  and  presently  his  visitors  departed 
in  as  bad  humor  as  they  had  come.  As  they  separated  at 
the  door  yard  gate  to  go  their  several  ways,  the  inquirer 
turned  back  to  ask,  "  Say,  Jozerf,  haow  much  did  M'rier 
git  for  that '  ere  dawg  ?' ' 


VIII. 

THE   TURKEY   SHOOT   AT    HAMNER'S. 

THE  morning  of  the  day  before  Thanksgiving  was  bright 
and  still,  promising  such  a  day  as  a  rifleman  would  wish 
for  target-shooting,  and  before  the  middle  of  the  forenoon 
almost  every  man  in  Danvis  who  owned  a  rifle,  and  some 
who  did  not,  but  were  enough  in  favor  to  borrow  one  of 
owners  too  old  to  use  one,  or  too  impecunious  to  share  in 
a  sport  that  called  for  a  "  York  shillin'  "  a  shot,  was  at 
Hamner's  hostelry,  or  hurrying  toward  it  across  lots  or 
along  the  rough,  frozen  roads.  And  as  many  or  more 
than  these  were  those  who  went  with  hands  in  pockets, 
otherwise  empty,  to  look  on  enviously,  and  rugged-faced 
old  mountaineers  whose  dim  eyes  could  no  longer  sight  a 
rifle,  and  whose  palsied  hands  had  shaken  off  all  their  cun 
ning,  to  criticise  the  younger  shooters  and  tell  marvellous 
tales  of  what  they  could  do  and  had  done  in  bygone  years  ; 
and  also  penniless  and  stingy  topers  who  scented  occasional 
free  drinks  among  the  possibilities  of  the  meeting.  One 
of  them,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  slowly  spelled 
out  the  words  on  the  sign  which  the  proprietor  had  lately 
hung  out  under  the  eaves  of  the  smait  and  flimsy  new 
piazza,  "  H,  a,  m,  Ham,  n,  e,  r,  s,  ner's,  h,  o,  t,  hot, 
e,  1,  le,  hottle  !  Humph  !  I  wonder  if  the  rum-m-m 
[his  lips  clung  fondly  to  this  comprehensive  name  for  all 
alcoholic  intoxicants]  in  a  hottle  is  any  better  'n  what  it 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  65 

uster  be  in  a  tarvern  ?  I'd  a  darn  sight  druther  seethe 
ol'  sign  stuck  up  on  the  post  aout  there,  '  Tarvern— 
ent'tainmint  for  man  an'  beast/ 

"  Wai,  it  sartingly  did  look  more  horsepitiful,"  said 
Solon  Briggs,  turning  his  critical  glance  from  the  new  sign 
to  the  old  post  still  standing,  though  uncrowned,  by  the 
roadside.  "  But  this  is  a  age  of  reprovement,  'Niram,  an' 
ol'  things  is  dis-pearin'  an'  new  things  is  a-pearin'." 

"  Say,  'Niram,"  cried  the  most  smartly  dressed  young 
fellow  in  the  crowd  on  the  piazza,  "  du  you  ever  drink 
anything  naow-er-days  ?" 

"  Wai,  I  du,"  thirsty  Adoniram  promptly  responded, 
"  when  I  can't  git  snow  t'  eat  !  "  and  casting  out  his  quid 
he  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  prospective  treat, 
following  close  at  the  heels  of  the  young  man  as  he  led  the 
way  into  the  bar-room.  When  Adoniram  had  poured  his 
gill  of  raw  spirits  down  his  throat,  his  entertainer  called  his 
attention  to  a  showily-trimmed  rifle  standing  within  the 
safe  precincts  of  the  bar.  "There,  'Niram,  is  what  you 
may  call  a  linger  gun.  Reach  it  aout  here,  Hamner. 
That's  the  weepon  'at's  agoin'  t'  pop  the  turkeys  to-day  ! 
Haint  it  a  steeple-picker?"  brushing  its  German  silver 
ornaments  with  his  coat-sleeve  and  sighting  one  of  the 
tack-heads  which  held  a  horse  advertisement  to  the  wall. 
"  Thirty-five  dollars  in  money  I  paid  Varney  for  makin' 
on  it,  an'  he  warr'nts  it  t'  fetch  'em  every  time  !  The' 
haint  nob'dy  livin',  you  know,  'at  c'n  beat  Varney — 
Burl'nt'n,  you  know — a  makin'  a  rifle.  Naow,  look  a 
here,"  seating  himself  on  the  bunk,  which  was  the  prin 
cipal  article  of  furniture  in  the  room,  and  motioning 
Adoniram  to  a  place  beside  him,  and  lowering  his  voice  to 
a  privately  confidential  mumble,  "  when  they  git  a  turkey 


66  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

sot  up,  an'  I'm  a  goin'  tu  hev  a  shot,  I  want  you,  'Niram, 
tu  kinder  gwup  half  way  er  so,  an'  kinder  drop  yer  hat  off, 
sorter  accident' 1,  so  's  't  I  c'n  see  haow  much  wind  the' 
is  a  stirrin'  aout  there.  'F  you'll  be  clever  'nough  t'  du 
that  much  for  me,  'Niram,  you  sha'n't  suffer  none  fin 
bein'  dry  t'day  !" 

"  I  will  du  it,  Mt'ster  Putman  !"  said  Adoniram,  em 
phasizing  his  promise  with  a  stroke  of  his  fist  upon  his 
knee,  "  not  'at  I  keer  a  darn  for  hevin'  a  drink  er  tew  gi'n 
me,  but  aouten  clear  frien'ship  1  Me  an'  yer  father  was 
allus  frien's,  went  t'  school  tugether,  'n'  got  lickin's,  'n' 
fit,  'ri'  eat  one  other's  nutcakes,  'n'  everything,  an'  I'm  a 
goin'  t'  du  his  son  a  good  turn  whence  ever  I  git  a  chance, 
I  be!  Yes,  sir/  Ahem!  Seems 's  'ough  that  'ere 
spoo'fl  o'  rum  was  a  feelin'  kinder  lunsome  in  my 
in'ards,  Mister  Putman/' 

"  Ex-cuse  me,  'Niram,  I  was  jest  a-goin'  to  ask  ye 'f 
you  wa'n't  a  gettin'  dry.  Set  aout  yer  best,  Hamner; 
'taint  none  tu  good  for  my  frien's." 

"'  Hamner' s  rum  an'  the  river  is  putty  clust  neighbors," 
Adoniram  remarked,  remembering  to  smack  his  lips  only 
when  the  last  drop  of  his  generous  potation  had  passed 
them.  "  This  'ere  don't  seem  to  take  a  holt  much." 

"  That's  the  clear  quill,  'Niram,"  said  the  publican, 
pouring  a  spoonful  into  a  glass  and  smelling  and  tasting  it. 
;'  The  clear  quill,  fourth  proof,  cost  me— le'  me  see — " 

"  Clear  quill  !"  Adoniram  broke  in  on  his  calculations, 
"  duck  quills  an'  geese  quills,  I  guess  like  's  not.  They 
was  a  tellin',"  bestowing  impartial  winks  on  the  son  of  his 
friend  and  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel,  "  haow  someb'dy 
'nuther  faound  a  minny  alive  an'  kickin'  in  his  sperits  here 
t'other  day  !" 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  67 

"  Hello,  Jeems  !  Hello,  'Nirum  !  well-named,  wa'n't 
ye?  Allus  nigh  ram  when  it's  araound  I"  cried  a  big, 
bluff  new-comer  with  a  heavy  rifle  lying  as  lightly  as  a  reed 
in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  "  Come,  Hamner,  set  up  them 
'ere  poultry  an'  le's  hev  a  crack  at  'em  !" 

"  Wai,  it  is  about  time  we  was  at  it,"  young  Putnam 
assented,  hauling  out  a  gold-plated  watch  and  consulting 
it  ostentatiously,  "  seven  minutes  t'  ten  !" 

"  Sartinly,  sartinly,  Mr.  Dart  ;  I  was  only  a-waitin'  for 
the  folks  tu  rest  'em  an'  stiddy  the  narves  an'  re-fresh 
'emselves  up.  You're  a  lee- tie  faster  'n  what  I  be,  Mr. 
Putnam,"  said  Hamner,  looking  at  the  bar-room  clock. 

"  I  sot  my  watch  by  Austin's  t'  V'gennes  last  week,  an' 
he  reg-lates  the  sun,"  Putnam  asserted. 

"  Pshaw  !  Hamner,"  said  Dart,  after  looking  at  the  tall 
clock  and  listening  attentively  a  moment,  "  yer  pleggid  ol' 
m' chine  's  stopped  runnin'  !  You'd  orter  hev  a  crank 
stuck  int'  yer  ol'  minute-mill  an'  take  a  day  an'  grind 
aout  time  anough  t'  last  ye  a  week  !  But  I  see  yer  idee. 
You  wanter  git  us  so  's  't  we  can't  see  a  hole  through  a 
ladder  'fore  you  let  us  shoot  !  Wai,  le'  me  'speriment  wi' 
yer  pison.  I'll  resk  one  drink.  Come,  Jeems  an'  'Nirum, 
le's  die  together.  Here's  a  hopesin'  'at  we'll  pass  away 
kinder  comf  table.  There,  Hamner,  's  a  nimep'nce,  an' 
that  'ill  pay  for  aour  drinks,  bein'  't  we're  all  light 
drinkers,  'specially  'Nirum.  Naow,  Hamner,  you  take  it 
an'  don't  ye  grumble.  You  c'n  buy  a  pint  o'  proof 
sperits  wi'  nimep'nce,  'n'  that'll  make  a  gallern  o'  sech 
nourishment  's  this.  Say,  boys,  hev  another  an'  I'll  give 
him  a  quarter.  Little  haint  much,  an'  twicte  haint  often  ! 
No?  Wai,  then,  le's  go 'n'  kill  one  of  Hamner' s  chick 
adees  'fore  we  die." 


6J  UNCLE   LISUA'S 


The  outbuildings  of  the  tavern  straggled  along  the  bank 
of  the  intervale,  on  the  broadest  part  of  which  was  room 
enough  —  too  much,  some  thought  —  for  the  range.  Be 
yond  the  stable  was  the  stand,  which  was  simply  a  plank 
with  one  end  resting  on  a  horse,  the  other  on  the  ground, 
and  out  toward  the  furthest  curve  of  the  little  river  stood  a 
dry-goods  box  on  which  the  turkeys  were  to  be  placed. 
''  Thunder  in  the  winter  !"  Dart  ejaculated,  as  he  looked 
over  the  range  with  a  half-shut,  calculating  eye,  "you 
call  that  forty  rod,  Hamner  ?  M'asured  it  with  an  injin- 
rubber  string,  didn't  ye,  V  pulled  like  a  yoke  o'  stags? 
I  sh'  like  t'  buy  the  interval  'cordin'  to  that  m'asure.  But 
set  one  up  I" 

The  long,  lank,  sharp-faced  publican  directed  an  assist 
ant  to  bring  out  a  turkey,  and  after  a  fluttering  commotion 
in  the  stable  he  reappeared  with  a  half-grown  one  under 
his  arm,  and  took  his  way  across  the  flat  toward  the  dry- 
goods  box.  "  Oh,  what  a  turkey  !"  Dart  shouted. 
"  Haint  ye  got  no  aigs  ter  set  up?  Wai,  Hamner,  you 
be  tough  —  tougher  'n  a  biled  aowl  !  But  nev'  mind,  I'm 
a  goin'  ter  shoot  —  that's  what  I  come  here  for.  But  a 
feller  might  jes'  's  well  shoot  at  the  moon  —  't  ain't  much 
furder  off,  an'  it's  bigger." 

"  Wai,  yes,  some  bigger,  John,"  said  Joseph  Hill,  tak 
ing  off  his  hat  and  scratching  his  head  meditatively,  "  least 
ways  when  it's  full,  which  it  don't  seem  as  'ough  that 
turkey  was.  " 

"  Oh,  you  shet  up,  Joe  Hill  !"  Hamner  snarled. 
"  Turkeys  is  what's  called  for,  an'  that  'ere  's  a  turkey, 
haint  it  ?"  and  he  glowered  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  giant 
Dart,  who,  good-natured  as  he  was,  looked  too  big  to 
quarrel  with. 


UNCLE   LISIfA'S   SHOP,  69 

"  Sartinly,  Mr,  Hamner,"  said  the  amicable  Joseph, 
"  that's  the  name  on  't,  I  haint  no  daoubt.  A  turkey  's 
a  turkey  soon  's  he's  hatched." 

"  Say,  Bill  !' '  Dart  shouted  after  the  bearer  of  the  turkey, 
"got  any  lunchern  in  yer  pocket?  You'll  git  hungry 
'fore  you  git  there.  An'  say,  Bill,  holler  when  ye  git  yer 
gobbler  sot  up,  so  's  't  we'll  know.  He's  most  aout  o' 
sight  naow  !" 

At  last  the  poor  bird  was  placed  in  position,  Bill  re 
treated  to  a  safe  distance  and  the  cover  of  the  river- bank, 
and  Dart,  lying  down  on  the  plank,  rested  his  rifle  across 
the  end  of  it.  After  much  sighting  and  squinting  he 
cocked  his  piece  and,  taking  careful  aim,  fired. 

"  SoP,  for  a  nimep'nce  !"  he  proclaimed,  as  the  turkey 
was  seen  to  flutter  and  fall  prone  upon  the  box. 

"Don't  b'lieve  ye  teched  him!  He's  only  scairt  !" 
Hamner  snarled,  unwilling  to  believe  that  his  turkey  had 
gone  for  so  little  money.  But  all  doubt  on  that  score  was 
removed  when  Bill  took  it  down  and  began  his  journey 
toward  them,  a  dozen  of  the  party  running  out  to  meet 
him. 

" 'T  won't  take  more  'n  half  on  ye  tu  bring  in  that 
turkey,"  Dart  called  after  them.  "Naow,  Hamner,  you 
be  ketchin'  another  tu  set  up.  I  want  a  mess  while  I'm 
'baout  it  an*  got  my  hand  in.  " 

"  Not  by  a  gol  darned  sight  you  don't  hev  another  shot  ! 
You  s'pose  I'm  a  goin'  tu  hev  the  bread  took  aouter  my 
maouth  that  way?  One  turkey  's  'nough  for  anybody 
but  a  darned  hawg  !" 

"  You're  jest  right,  Hamner.  One  turkey  's  as  much 
as  anybody  'd  ort  tu  eat  tu  oncte,  an'  all  I  want  is  one 
apiece  for  the  fam'ly.  The'  's  five  on  us,  none  on  us  very 


70  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

hearty  t'  eat  only  gran'maw  'n'  the  baby,  an'  five  turkeys 
is  all  't  I  want.  But  the'  haint  nothin'  small  'baout  me 
only  my  feet,"  holding  out  a  No.  12  "stogy"  for  inspec 
tion,  "  which  you  may  not  think  they  be,  but  a  feller's 
boot  haint  his  foot.  Mine  's  small,  but  a  big  boot  fits 
'em  best.  I  don't  push  for  the  nex'  shot.  Here's  Mr. 
Putman,  which  he's  got  him  a  rifle  'at  cost  him  thir  ty-five 
dollars  in  money,  an'  Varney  made  it,  which  that  means 
all  you've  got  t'  du  is  tu  show  it  a  turkey  an'  it  fetches 
him  !  An'  Mr.  Putman  wants  a  few.  'N'  here's  Peltier 
Gove,  he's  got  the  Widder  Wiggins' s  rifle,  which  it  was 
Pete's,  an'  he  give  Hatch  the  price  of  a  ye'rlin'  colt  for  it, 
an'  the'  's  some  'at  says  haow  Hatch  c'n  make  jes'  as 
good  a  gun  as  Varney  any  day,  an'  Peltier  wants  tu  find 
aout.  An'  here  is  Jozeff  Hill  ;  he's  a  luggin'  'raound 
one  o'  Seaver's  ol'  fewzees  which  they  say  he  hes  hit  a 
barn  with  it,  bein'  'at  he  was  on  the  inside  on  't  an'  all 
the  doors  shet.  An'  the'  's  lots  more  on  'em  'at  hes  tu 
heng  on  t'  the'  guns  tu  keep  'em  I'm  goin'  off  arter  tur 
keys.  I'm  willin'  for  half  on  'em  tu  hev  a  chance  while 
I  rest  my  gun  a  spell,  for  it's  tumble  strainin'  on  a  gun  t' 
shoot  so  fur.  Wai,  here's  Bill  mos'  tuckered  aout  a  luggin' 
of  that  turkey  aout  there  'n'  back  'thaout  restin'  much  'n' 
nothin'  t'  eat  all  the  time.  Le'  me  see  where  I  hit  him. 
Right  in  the  butt  o'  the  wing  !  That's  where  I  allus  hit 
'em—when  I  don't  miss  on  't.  Haint  he  an  ol'  sollaker  ! 
Sary  Ann  '11  hefter  put  the  stuffin'  on  the  aoutside — the' 
haint  room  'nough  on  the  inside." 

Presently  Bill  went  out  with  another  turkey  across  the 
flat,  the  light  snowy  covering  of  which  began  to  show  a 
dun  path  in  the  direction  of  the  target.  Following  him 
went  'Niram  with  unsteady  footsteps  till  he  got  half  way 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  71 

across  the  range,  where  he  halted  and  threw  up  his  hat 
with  a  lusty,  if  obsolete,  cheer  for  "  Tippycanew  an'  Tyler 
tew  !"  As  the  hat  dropped  beside  him,  hardly  slanting  to 
the  light  breeze  in  its  fall,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits, 
he  kicked  at  it,  and  missed  it,  and  too  topheavy  to  balance 
himself,  found  himself  suddenly  seated  by  it.  Regarding  it 
fora  little  with  tipsy  solemnity,  as  if  wondering  "  how  came 
we  here  ?"  he  picked  it  up,  knocked  the  snow  off  it,  set 
it  upon  his  head,  slowly  got  himself  upon  his  feet,  and 
meandered  back  to  the  stand.  The  turkey  was  in  position, 
and  the  foppishly-dressed  young  man  of  the  name  of  Put 
nam  got  himself  upon  the  plank  with  a  great  flourish  of 
preparation. 

"  Naow,  Jeems/'  Dart  advised  as  he  was  sighting  his 
rifle,  "  you'd  better  le'  me  onbutton  the  strops  o'  yer 
trousers,  erless  you'll  pull  the  tricker  off  'm  that  thirty-five- 
dollargun  o'  yourn  erbust  yer  strops  !"  But  Putnam  fired 
without  taking  this  precaution,  and  the  trigger  and  straps 
came  safely  out  of  the  ordeal,  and  so  did  the  turkey. 

"  You  'd  orter  pulled  harder,  strops  er  no  strops,  an' 
kinder  pushed  tew,  mebby  ;  a  bullit  needs  helpin'  sech 
long  shots.  I  gi'n  mine  a  boost,  'baout  ninety  weight, 
nigh  's  I  c'ld  cal'late." 

"  This  'ere  John  Dart  a-pears  tu  be  a  very  jokus  indi- 
viddywil,"  said  Solon  Briggs  to  Joseph  Hill  ;  "we  hed  oit 
tu  give  him  a  invite  tu  jine  aour  sore-eyes  up  tu  Lisher's  ; 
he  would  make  'em  more  convivualler. "  Joseph  hardly 
understood  him,  but  recommended  an  alum  curd  poultice 
as  the  best  remedy  for  sore  eyes,  ' '  thaout  '  t  was  lobele 
steeped  intu  sperits." 

"  These  'ere  half-len'th  rifles  hain't  wuth  a  soo  markee 
fer  long  shots  !"  Gran'ther  Hill  whistled  savagely,  though 


72  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

toothlessly,  casting  a  scornful  glance  at  the  thirty-five- 
dollar  rifle  and  its  owner.  "  I  wish  't  I  hed  me  my  gun 
here,  'at  I  hed  tu  Hubbar't'n  an'  Bennin't'n,  I'd  show  ye  ! 
An'  I  would  ha'  hed  it  'f  I'd  hed  me  a  flint  'at  hed  any 
more  fire  in  't  'n  a  hunk  o'  col'  johnny-cake.  Couldn't  find 
nothin'  in  the  haouse  but  a  Injin  arrer.  Ye  can't  git  a 
decent  flint  naow-er-days  sen  these  pesky  cap-locks  come 
in  fashi'n.  Flints  is  the  thing  tu  tech  off  paowder,  I  tell 
ye  !  They  burns  it  slow,  an'  yer  ball  don't  git  started  fer 
t'  go  ontwell  the  paowder  's  all  afire,  an'  then,  sir,  it  goes 
lu  kill  !  Fo'  foot  in  the  berril  that  'ere  gun  is,  an'  when 
it's  pinted  at  a  thing,  you  knows  it,  an'  so  does  what  it's 
pinted  at  !" 

"  It  ort  tu,  'f  'tain't  tew  fur  off,"  Dart  said  too  loudly. 

"  Fo'  foot  in  the  berril  \"  the  veteran  repeated,  taking  no 
notice  of  the  interruption  but  to  frown  on  the  speaker, 
"  an'  it  hain't  a  inch  tew  long  !  Ethin  Allin  hes  shot  it, 
an'  so  hes  Seth  Warner,  an'  so  hes  Remember  Baker,  an' 
so  hes  John  Stark!  An'  the'  don't  nobody  'at's  here 
a-shootin'  popguns  tu-day  'at  wants  ter  up  an'  tell  me  'at 
they  wa'n't  shooters  an'  men  'at  knowed  what  guns  was  ! 
John  Stark  says  he  tu  Bennin't'n,  says  he,  '  Them  red  cuts 
is  aourn,  boys,  er  Molly  Stark' s  a  widder  !  Come  on, 
Josier  !  '  An'  tu  Hubbar't'n,  Seth  Warner  says  he  tu  me, 
says  he,  'Josier,  I  want  ye  tu  pick  off  that  'ere  British 
offycer  wi'  that  long  gun  o'  yourn.'  An'  sir,  a  minute 
arterward  that  offycer  was  scase  !  I  was  in  the  fust  bwut 
'at  went  aouten  Hand's  Cove  on  the  tenth  o'  May,  in  the 
mornin'  airly,  seventeen  hund'ed  an'  seventy-five,  an'  Ethin 
Allin  was  a-standin'  in  the  bow,  an'  he  wa'  n' t  a  mite  afeared, 
'cause  I  was  a  settin'  right  behind  of  him.  Bennydick 
Arnil  was  along,  tew,  the  damned  trailer,  an'  I  wish  't  I 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  73 

bed  a-done  what  I  wanted  tu,  chucked  the  cussed  hook 
nosed  hen-hawk  int'  the  lake,  blast  him  !  Wai,  sir,  when 
we  landed  an'  was  drawed  up  inter  line,  an'  stood  a-waitin' 
an'  a-waitin'  for  the  rest  on  'em  tu  come  over,  Seth  an' 
mongst  'em,  an'  it  begin  tu  grow  light  in  the  East,  an'  a 
rwuster  begin  to  crow  up  tu  the  fort,  Ethin  he  begin  tu 
git  tumble  oneasy,  an'  at  last  says  he,  '  If  we  wait  for  the 
rest  on  'em  any  longer,  daylight  '11  spile  aour  plan.  Every 
man  'at's  willin'  tu  go  for' ad  naow,  pise  his  firelock  !  ' 
An',  sir,  every  man  jack  on  us  did  it,  quicker  'n  ever  hell 
scorched  a  feather  !  Then  says  Ethin,  says  he,  '  Is  Josier 
Hill  here  ? '  '  I  be,'  says  I.  '  All  right,'  says  he,  '  for' ad, 
march  !  '  'Fore  we  got  tu  the  gate,  the'  was  some  squab- 
blin'  'twixt  Ethin  an'  Arnil  'baout  which  was  a-goin'  in 
fust,  an'  Ethin  come  putty  nigh  a-jabbin'  Arnil  with  his 
sword  ;  but  they  finally  fixed  it  up  an'  went  in  'long  side 
o'  one  nuther,  though  I  b'lieve  I  was  a  leetle  mite  ahead 
on  'em,  a  chasin'  the  sent' nil  'at  snapped  at  Ethin." 

"  Golly  blue  !  Father  '11  be  a-takin'  Canady  'f  he  gits 
another  underjawful  o'  Hamner's  fightin'  rum  \"  said  the 
veteran's  son  in  mild  alarm,  and  such  an  exploit  seemed 
not  unlikely  to  be  undertaken  by  the  ancient  warrior,  for 
he  now  began  to  sing  in  a  voice  half  croak  and  half  whistle, 
to  a  small  but  appreciative  audience  : 

"  '  We're  a-marchin'  on  tow-wards  Quebec, 

Whilst  the  drums  is  loudli  bea — tin, 
For  Americay  hes  gained  the  day 
An'  the  British  is  retrea — tin'  ! ' ' 

"  Bah  gosh  !    Ah' 11  goin'  help  it  !"   cried  Antoine,  who 
had  been  prancing  from  group  to  group  in  search  of  listen 
ers  to  what  he  had  to  tell  concerning  shooting.      ' '  Dat 


74  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

mek  me  rembler  one  tam  dey  have  it  shoot-turkey  in  Can- 
ady.  an'  dey' 11  ant  let  you  see  dem  turkey,  bah  gosh,  no  ! 
Dey' 11  have  it  'hind  a  hill  of  it,  an'  you'll  gat  for  guess 
where  he'll  was  an'  den  shoot.  Yes,  sah  !  Well,  boy, 
Ah' 11  was  be  dere,  an'  Ah' Use'  dawn  an'  listen  for  hear,  an' 
bombye  pooty  soon  Ah' 11  hear  dat  turkey  beegin  for  gob 
bler.  Houkle,  houkle,  houkle  !  Den  Ah' 11  pant  up  ma 
gun  up  so  Ah' 11  tink  de  ball  was  drop  off  where  he'll  hit 
dat  nowse,  an'  Ah' 11  shot  off,  pluck  !  '  Squowk  !  '  Ah' 11 
hear  dat  turkey  said,  an'  bah  gosh!  You'll  antb'lieved 
me,  dat  ball  stroke  it  raght  bit  tween  hees  backs  !" 

"Oh,  beeswax!"  said  Dart;  "they  never  hed  no 
turkey  shoot  in  Canady  !  They  uster  shoot  peas  at  a  kittle, 
an'  the  one  'at  got  the  most  peas  into  't  'ould  hev  the  pot 
o'  pea  soup  made  aouten  on  'em  I" 

"  Bah  gosh,  you'll  ant  know  !  You'll  never  was  be 
dere.  You'll  gat  so  far  from  Dan  vis  you'll  can'  smell 
spruce  gum,  you'll  ant  never  fan  your  way  back  !  Hein  ! 
boy?"  Antoine  retorted. 

Putnam  made  several  ineffectual  shots,  with  each  his 
pride  in  his  gun  and  his  faith  in  its  maker  falling  and  fail 
ing.  Then  Pelatiah  tried  his  luck  with  the  work  of  the 
rival  maker,  but  its  famed  killing  qualities  seemed  to  have 
departed  with  its  deceased  late  owner,  much  to  the  sorrow 
of  poor  Pelatiah,  whose  slender  weasel  skin  held  but  one 
half  dollar,  the  proceeds  of  his  fall  trapping  in  the  Beaver 
Meadow  Brook,  and  two  more  shots  would  exhaust  his 
scant  hoard. 

Meanwhile  Sam  Lovel  was  out  in  the  woods,  where  he 
had  been  long  before  the  shooting  began,  in  pursuit  of 
Uncle  Lisha's  promised  partridges.  The  frozen  leaves, 
showing  a  crinkle  of  brown  and  here  and  there  a  streak  or 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  75 

patch  of  yet  unfaded  October  red  and  yellow  through 
the  light  powdering  of  snow,  were  noisy  under  the  lightest 
tread.  The  squirrels  scampering  over  them  in  quest  of 
their  Thanksgiving  fare,  could  be  heard  thirty  rods  away, 
and  a  dozen  partridges  went  whirring  and  crashing  away 
unseen  through  the  haze  of  gray  branches  and  dark  clouds 
of  evergreen  boughs  before  Sam  drew  a  bead  -on  the  head 
of  an  old  cock  who  strutted  an  instant  too  long  on  his  last 
spring's  drumming  log,  and  then  verified  the  truth  that 
pride  goeth  before  a  fall  as  he  tossed  up  a  flurry  of  leaves 
and  snow  in  his  death-struggle.  So  our  hunter  went  on 
through  this  range  of  wooded  hill,  exhausting  its  present 
possibilities  of  game  when  he  had  killed  another  partridge, 
but  all  the  while  enjoying  his  solitary  tramp.  He  heard 
the  intermittent  popping  of  the  rifles  at  Hamner's,  and  in 
soliloquy  mildly  anathematized  the  shooters  as  "  a  pack  o' 
dum'd  fools."  In  a  different  spirit  Joel  Bartlett,  hearing 
the  frequent  reports  as  he  foddered  his  cattle  in  the  barn 
yard,  sighed  loudly  and  sorrowfully,  and  said  in  the  sing 
song  tone  that  would  now  certainly  be  heard  next  day  in 
the  Fifth  Day  meeting,  "  A  snare  of  the  evil  one,  an' 
a-nother  pitfall  digged  for  the  feet  of  the  onwary  !  These 
men  a-shootin'  at  innocent  faowls  of  the  air,  is  a-follerin' 
of  a  custom,  an'  a  practyse,  an'  a  observance  o'  them  'at 
hung  Mary  Dyer,  an'  grieviously  pussecuted  many 
formerly." 

When  Sam  had  come  to  the  top  of  the  hill  the  shortest 
way  to  the  next  likely  hunting-ground  lay  past  Hamner's, 
and  a  natural  curiosity  drew  him  to  the  shooting-ground. 

Fortune  had  frowned  on  all  the  contestants  but  the  ami 
able  giant,  Dart,  who  by  his  weight  and  good-nature  and 
the  possibly  better  gift  of  luck,  seemed  always  to  make 


7 6  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

his  way,  and  having  no-.v  got  three  turkeys  Hamner  was 
disposed  to  debar  him  from  another  chance.  "I  do' 
know  haow  on  airth  I'm  a-goin'  tu  divide  three  turkeys 
'mongst  five  on  us/'  he  said,  "  but  I  never  was  wuth  a 
snap  at  figgers.  Mebby  Sary  Ann  '11  make  hash  on  'em." 
Luck,  certainly  not  skill,  had  taken  one  of  Joseph  Hill's 
bullets  into  deadly  contact  with  a  turkey,  and  he,  following 
Dart's  hint,  was  telling  his  friends  that  M'ri  would  make  a 
dumpling,  the  bird  to  be  the  core  of  the  savory  compound 
which  would  have  been  the  stuffing  of  a  larger  turkey, 
"  erless  she  took  a  notion  tu  fry  it  'long  wi'  a  slice  o'  pork, 
same  as  she  would  a  patridge. " 

Poor  Pelatiah  was  in  doleful  dumps,  having  fired  three 
shots  without  getting  a  turkey,  and  now  debating  with 
himself  whether  he  should  hazard  the  remainder  of  his 
treasure  on  another.  "I  hit  a  nine  inch  ring  three  times 
aout  o'  five,  forty  rod  as  I  paced  it  up  behind  the  barn  t' 
hum,  yist'd'y,  wi'  that  gun,"  he  confided  to  Sam,  "  Wid- 
der  Wiggins' s  rifle,  the  best  one  the'  is  in  Danvis,  so 
ev'b'dy  says,  an'  tu-day,  Sam  well,  I  can't  hit  a  ten-acre 
lot!" 

"  It's  fifty  rod  f'm  here  tu  that  box  if  it's  a  rod,"  said 
Sam  to  Pelatiah,  and  partly  to  himself.  "  Thedum'd  ol' 
cheatin'  cuss  !  Look  a  here,  Peltier,  if  you  wanter  try 
agin  I'll  pay  for  yer  shot  if  it's  a  miss.  Don't  ye  be  in 
no  hurry.  You  might,"  measuring  the  distance  to  the  hill 
across  the  road  with  his  eye,  "  you  might  forgit  tu  put  any 
cap  on,  an'  snap  tew  three  times,  an'  then  hoi'  high  ! 
lAim  at  the  top  o'  'Tater  Hill  'f  you'r  a  minter — 'tain't 
nob' dy's  business  if  your  shot 's  paid  for.  But  don't  ye 
graound  your  ball  this  side  o'  the  turkey  !" 

"Coin',  Mr.    Lovel  ?"   Hamner  asked,  as  Sarn  shoul- 


UNCLE  LfSHA'S  SHOP.  77 

dered  his  ponderous  gun,  known  far  and  near  as  the  ' '  O'f 
Ore  Bed  ;"    "I  was  a-hopesin  you  'd  jine  us." 

"  No/'  Sam  replied  ;  "  I  can't  hit  a  turkey  forty  rod  off.; 
I'm  goin'  up  on  your  hilt  tu  try  'f  I  c'n  git  another 
patridge.  They  'pear  tu  be  turrible  scase  t'day." 

"  Tell  ye  what,  Ldvel, "  said  Dart,  "  1  b'lieve  Hamner's 
chick-a-biddied  'em  all  intu  his  barn  wi'  a  ha'  bushil  o' 
buckwheat,  an'  sot  'em  up  for  turkeys  !  These  things  we 
ben  a-shootin'  at  is  patridges,  an'  the  scruff  eends  o'  litters 
at  that  !" 

"  Re-freshmints  up  tu  the  hoe-tel,  Mr.  Lovel,"  Hamner 
said,  taking  no  notice  of  these  derogatory  remarks. 
"  Meant  tu  a-hed  some  austers,  but  I  guess  they  hain't 
bed  time  to  bring  'em  raound  sence  it  froze  up." 

"  Was  you  thinkin'  of  importin'  an  auster  up  here, 
Hamner?"  inquired  the  irrepressible  Dart.  "They  don't 
bite,  they  say,  in  no  month  'at  hain't  got  an  R  in  't,  an' 
the'  hain't  ben  quite  three  sech,  so  the'  hain't  ben  time  ta 
move  one  up  for  ye,  but  I'd  druther  resk  the  chance  o' 
gittin'  one  o'  Hamner's  turkeys  at  his  forty  rod,  'n  tu  try 
gittin'  an  auster  aouten  a  plate  o'  his  soup." 

"  Naow,  Mis-tQT  Dart,"  Hamner  asked,  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger,  "  du  you,  can  you  expeck  tu  git  a  pailf'l  o' 
solid  meats  aouten  a  plate  o'  austers  at  ninepunce  a  plate  ?" 

Sam  left  the  oyster  question  unsettled  and  made  speedy 
way  to  the  hill  which  overlooked  the  whole  range. 

Pelatiah  bestowed  his  ungainly  length  upon  the  plank 
once  more,  and  three  times  pulled  the  trigger  with  no  re 
sponsive  explosion  of  cap  and  charge.  "  G — o — s — h  !" 
he  exclaimed,  with  well-simulated  surprise  ;  "I  never 
thought  tu  put  no  cap  on."  This  oversight  having  been 
duly  remedied,  at  the  next  pull  the  Widder  Wiggins' s  rifle 


78  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

responded  with  its  wonted  spiteful  crack,  which  was  more 
loudly  repeated  from  the  hill  behind,  and  the  turkey,  with 
a  few  feeble  flaps  of  its  wings,  sank  upon  the  box. 

"  Sam  Hill  !  What  an  e-cho  !"  Joseph  ejaculated, 
taking  in  vain  the  name  of  a  possible  ancestor,  and  then 
looking  toward  the  rough  steep  beyond  the  road  he  saw  a 
thin  film  of  smoke  wafted  upward  through  the  evergreens. 
After  one  breathless  moment  of  open-eyed  and  wide- 
mouthed  wonder,  he  doubled  himself  up  in  a  paroxysm  of 
smothered  laughter. 

When  the  turkey  was  examined  some  one  remarked  that 
the  "  Widder  Wiggins' s  rifle  made  a  onaccaountable  big 
hole,"  but  Pelatiah  bore  home  his  prize  in  triumph  and 
with  unquestioned  right. 


IX. 

SAM  LOVEL'S  THANKSGIVING. 

As  hunting  was  dearer  to  Sam  Lovel  than  feasting,  it 
very  naturally  happened  that  on  the  morning  of  the 
Thanksgiving  Day  to  which  Uncle  Lisha  had  alluded,  he 
was  out  on  the  hills  with  Drive  rather  than  at  home  endur 
ing  the  fuss  and  bustle  of  the  "  women  folkses'  "  prepara 
tion  of  the  great  dinner.  Such  endurance  he  thought 
would  be  poorly  paid  for  by  all  the  good  things  that  the 
feast  would  furnish  forth,  to  be  gorged  at  noon  in  a  silent 
and  business-like  manner,  as  if  to  eat  a  little  more  than 
one's  comfortable  fill  was  the  best,  if  not  the  only  observ 
ance  of  the  time-honored  holiday  that  was  required. 

Sam  was  out  betimes.  As  he  took  his  way  across  the 
narrow  fields  to  the  woods,  the  dun  grass  land,  the  black 
squares  and  oblongs  of  fall  ploughing,  the  gray  of  the  decid 
uous  trees,  and  the  ' '  black  growth' '  of  the  woodlands  were 
blurred  together  in  the  first  light  of  the  early  morning, 
nothing  distinct  but  lines  and  patches  of  the  first  snow, 
left  by  the  ensuing  warm  days,  and  the  serrated  crest  of 
the  mountain  now  sharply  cut  against  the  Eastern  sky. 
The  hound,  quartering  the  way  toward  sunrise,  came  into 
sight  and  vanished,  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  first 
white  spots  and  then  a  dimly-defined  dog,  then  white  spots 
and  no  dog,  nor  any  indication  of  his  nearness  but  his 
loud  snuffing  and  the  crisp  crush  of  the  frosty  herbage 
under  his  feet.  Presently  he  gave  tongue  on  a  cold  scent, 


80  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

and  puzzling  out  with  his  miraculous  gift  of  smell  the 
devious  course  of  the  fox  over  knolls  and  through  swales 
of  matted  mouse-haunted  wild  grass,  and  by  and  by,  when 
daylight  had  set  well-defined  bounds  to  field  and  lorest, 
led  his  slowly-following  master  to  the  ridge  of  the  first 
hill.  Then  the  sun  began  to  burn  its  way  up  the  sky 
with  so  intense  a  flame  that  it  seemed  to  be  consuming  the 
stubby  trunks  and  low-spread  branches  of  the  stunted 
evergreens  bristling  in  blurred  silhouette  on  the  mountain 
crest.  Sam  followed  the  trend  of  the  long  ledge  that 
formed  the  top  of  the  hill,  a  sheer  steep  abutting  toward 
the  West,  a  long  rough  slope  slanting  to  a  dark  gorge  on 
the  East.  Out  of  this  came  from  time  to  time  the  tuneful 
baying  of  the  hound  as  he  worked  southward  on  the  scent, 
so  cold  that  only  in  those  places  that  held  it  best  it  greeted 
his  nostrils  with  an  aroma  strong  enough  to  bring  forth  his 
bugle-like  challenge.  The  intervals  of  silence  became 
longer  between  the  bugle  notes,  sounding  now  fainter  and 
farther  away,  till  at  last  unheard  at  all,  though  the  mur 
mur  of  a  mountain  brook  changing  with  wafts  of  the  light 
breeze,  the  monotonous  bong  of  the  evergreens  swelling 
and  falling  with  its  varying  touch,  and  a  hundred  nameless 
mysterious  voices  of  the  woods  fooled  the  hunter's  ear  now 
and  then.  But  he  had  an  abiding  faith  that  at  last  Drive 
would  get  up  the  fox  and  bring  him  back  along  this  ridge, 
and  so  he  listened  and  waited,  sitting  on  a  moss-cushioned 
log  while  all  the  chickadees  of  the  neighborhood  carne 
and  visited  him  with  inquisitive  friendliness,  and  the  jays, 
at  more  respectful  distance,  squalled  a  protest  against  his 
intrusion  on  their  haunts.  A  solitary  crow,  belated  in  his 
migration,  discovered  the  silent  and  motionless  figure,  and 
made  as  much  pother  as  if  it  had  been  a  featherless  o\vl 


UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP.  81 

or  a  furless  fox  ;  but  when  his  clamor  failed  to  bring  any 
response  from  the  brethren  now  far  beyond  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  he  flapped  away  in  silent  disgust.  A  red  squir 
rel  scampering  over  the  matted  leaves  in  quest  of  buried 
treasure  sat  up  at  the  toe  of  Sam's  boot,  and  after  a  short 
inspection  of  this  queer  black  stump  ventured  on  to  it, 
and  then  as  far  as  Sam's  knee,  whence  a  wink  of  the  hun 
ter's  gray  eye  frightened  him  in  a  sudden  panic,  from 
which  he  recovered  sufficiently  when  he  had  gained  the 
vantage  of  a  tree  trunk  to  rattle  out  a  volley  of  abuse. 
When  these  visitors  had  all  departed  and  Sam  had  listened 
long  in  vain,  he  moved  on  to  a  bald  peak  of  the  hill  from 
which  a  portion  of  the  valley  could  be  seen,  with  its  cleared 
fields  and  wooded  cobbles,  and  farmhouses  and  out 
buildings  strung  along  the  frozen  black  road  like  nests  on 
a  slender  leafless  branch.  Some  were  as  deserted  to-day 
as  the  vireo's  nest  that  hung  in  a  fork  of  the  witch-hazel 
beside  him,  the  inmates  away  for  one  day's  thanksgiving 
as  the  birds  were  for  months  of  it.  But  from  the  chimney 
of  one  red-painted  homestead,  which  Sam's  wandering 
glances  always  came  back  to,  a  banner  of  smoke  flaunted, 
denoting  occupancy. 

"  Someb'dy  stayin'  t'  hum  t'  Pur'n't'ns,"  he  solilo 
quized.  "  Guess  most  on  'em  's  gone  some'eres  tu 
Thanksgivin' ,  f  the'  hain't  nob' dystirrin'  ' round  aou' door. 
Guess  they  hain't  keepin'  on  't  there,  for  'f  they  was  ol' 
Granther  Pur'n't'n's  shay  'ould  be  a-loomin'  up 'long  side 
o'  the  barn  like  a  tew  storey  haouse  afire.  Wonder  'f  the' 
hain't  nob'dy  t'  hum,  'n'  the  dum'd  haouse  is  afire" — as 
the  chimney  belched  forth  a  greater  volume  of  smoke. 
"  Do'  know  but  what  I'd  better  go  an'  see.  That  'ere  fox 
isanol'  N'  Hampsh'r  traveller,  an'  he'll  tow  Drive  clean  t' 


82  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

the  C net' cut  River  'fore  he  gives  it  up  an'  comes  back, 
an'  I'll  be  dum'd  'f  I'm  a-goin'  to  set'raound  here  a-wait- 
in'  for  him  'till  t'morrer  night.  I  b'lieve  that  dum'd  ol' 
haouse  is  afire  !"  And  listening  one  moment  more  for 
the  voice  of  the  hound,  almost  afraid  that  he  might  hear 
it,  he  started  down  the  sheer  hillside,  checking  now  and 
then  his  headlong  course  with  clutches  on  bushes,  sap 
lings,  and  tree- trunks,  till  he  reached  the  level  of  the  alder- 
bordered  brook  that  wound  along  the  base  of  the  hill. 
The  red  winter  berries  glowed  there  in  vain  to  catch  his 
eye,  and  he  crushed  unseen  beneath  his  feet  the  scarlet 
cones  of  the  wild  turnip  drooping  on  their  withered  stalks 
as  he  breasted  the  tangled  sprawl  of  the  alders.  When 
beyond  them  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house  again,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  trim  figure  as  the  kitchen  door 
opened  for  an  instant,  the  flash  of  a  dish-pan  and  the  glitter 
of  its  discharged  contents,  and  a  few  notes  of  a  clear  voice 
singing,  "  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me."  The  figure  and 
the  voice  made  his  heart  beat  quicker,  but  he  slackened 
his  pace  as  he  taxed  his  wits  for  an  excuse  for  his  call. 
When  he  crossed  the  chips  in  front  of  the  woodshed,  he 
had  decided  that  his  first  idea  was  the  best  to  act  upon, 
and  that  if  he  did  not  quite  believe  it  now,  he  really  had 
believed  that  the  house  was  on  fire.  He  knocked  at  the 
kitchen  door  and  waited  long  enough  for  flames  to  have 
made  great  headway,  while  he  listened  to  the  voice  singing 
with  all  the  freedom  from  embarrassment  of  one  who  sings 
without  a  listener,  and  for  the  singer's  sole  pleasure — 

"  If  ever  I  chance  to  go  that  way, 
And  she  has  not  resigned  me, 
I'll  reconcile  my  mind  and  stay 
With  the  girl  I  left  behind  me." 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  83 

He  did  not  knock  again  till  the  words  ended  and  the 
singer  began  to  hum  the  tune  in  a  lower  voice.  Then 
the  singing  and  the  accompanying  clatter  of  dishes  and 
swash  of  "  wrench  water"  suddenly  stopped,  and  Sam 
knew  that  in  the  ensuing  hush  Huldah  was  wiping  her 
hands  on  the  towel  behind  the  buttery  door,  that  the  few 
quick  footsteps  took  her  to  the  looking-glass  in  the  door 
of  the  clock,  whose  ticking  he  could  now  hear,  and  now 
she  was  coming.  When  she  opened  the  door  such  a 
bright  pleased  surprise  shone  on  her  pretty  face  that  he 
could  compare  it  to  nothing  but  the  brightness  of  that 
morning's  sunrise. 

"  Why,  good  land  sakes  alive  !  Sam  well  Lovel,  where 
on  airth  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  his  cheeks  as  red  as  hers,  "  I  was 
a-huntin'  up  on  Pig's  Back,  an'  I  seen  the  smoke  a-tum- 
blin'  aouten  your  chimbly  at  sech  a  rate  't  I  was  af eared 
the  haouse  was  afire.  I  thought  most  likely  'at  you'd  all 
gone  off  t'  Thanksgivin',  an'  suthin'  nuther  hed  ketched, 
an'  so  I  come  ri'  daown.  I'm  sorry  't  I  troubled  ye,  but 
I'm  dreffle  glad  't  the'  hain't  nothin'  afire.  Guess  I'll  be 
a-goin'  naow. " 

"  Why,  what's  yer  hurry,  Mr.  Lovel  ?  Come  in  an' 
seddaown  an'  rest  ye  a  spell.  Aour  folks  is  all  gone, 
father 'n'  mother  'n'  Sis,  uptoGran'ther's,  an'  lef  nob'dyt' 
hum  but  me  ;n'  the  cat.  I  didn't  keer  no  gret'baout 
goin',  an'  so  I  staid  t'  hum  to  keep  haouse.  Come  in  an' 
seddaown  a  minute,  won't  ye  ?  while  I  gwup  stairs  an'  look 
o'  that  sto'pipe — it  hes  ben  kinder  aouter  kilter.  Come 
in  an'  take  a  cheer.  The  kitchin  looks  like  all  git  aout " 
[it  was  as  neat  as  a  new  bandbox],  "  but  I  wa'n't  'spectin' 
nob'dy,  an'  the'  hain't  no  fire  in  the  square  room.  I'd 


84  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP 

take  yer  gun,  but  I  dassent — set  it  in  the  corner,  cr  beng  it 
up  on  the  hooks  over  the  mantel-tree  there.  Father's  gun's 
gone  t'  V'gennes,  a-bein'  altered  over  tu  a — a  cap-lock,  is 
't  you  call  'em?  He  thinks  they're  better  'n  flint-locks. 
Du  you  think  they  be,  Sa — Mr.  Lovel,  I  mean  ?" 

"  Wai,  they  be  handier  an'  sartiner  to  go  off,  but  I  do' 
know  but  what  a  flint-lock  gun  is  'baout  as  good — to  heng 
up,  as  yer  father's  does  mostly,"  Sam  answered,  looking 
up  contemplatively  at  the  hooks  where  his  own  gun  now 
hung. 

"  Make  yerself  t'  hum,  Sam  well — why,  haow  I  du  keep 
a-callin'  on  ye  by  yer  fust  name  !  excuse  me,  Mr.  Lovel 
— while  I  gwup  an'  see  'baout  that  'ere  sto'pipe. " 

The  stovepipe  must  have  been  found  in  satisfactory  con 
dition,  for  Huldah  presently  reappeared  in  a  smart  new 
calico  gown,  and  with  her  hair  neatly  brushed  and  fastened 
with  a  high  tortoise-shell  comb. 

"Is  it  usuil,  Mr.  Lovel,"  she  asked,  after  she  had  set 
away  her  dishes,  and  drawing  a  chair  to  the  stove,  sat  down 
and  folded  her  hands  in  seemly  fashion  over  her  check 
apron,  ' '  for  folks  to  knock  at  the  door  when  they  think 
a  haouse  is  afire  ?" 

"  I  wa'n'ta-knockin'  !"  Sam  said,  dropping  his  abashed 
eyes  from  her  roguish  glance,  "  I  was  a-beginnin' — kinder 
mawdret,  ye  know,  to  bust  open  the  door.  I  didn't  wanter 
skeer  nob'dy,  s'posin'  the'  was  anyb'dy  t'hum,  which  I 
hedn't  no  idee  the'  was." 

Huldah  could  not  help  laughing  at  this  absurd  explana 
tion,  nor  could  Sam  help  joining  her,  and  when  they  had 
had  their  laugh  out  they  found  themselves  much  more  at 
ease  and  became  very  sociable.  When  Huldah  again  cor 
rected  herself  for  addressing  him  by  his  first  name,  he  re- 


UNCLE   LISflA'S    SHOP.  85 

minded  her  of  their  old  school  days  when  she  had  never 
thought  of  calling  him  anything  but  Sam.  "  We  was 
putty  good  frien's  them  times,  Huldy,  but  I'm  afeard  you 
hain't  a-feelin'  so  frien'ly  tow- wards  me  naow,  a-Misterin' 
on  me  so.  I  do'  know  who  folks  is  a-talkin'  tu  when 
they  says  Mister  Lovel  ;  seem's  's  'ough  they  was  mistakin' 
on  me  for  father  or  gran'ther. " 

"Wai,  then,  Sam,  'f  't  suits  ye  any  better!"  cried 
Huldah  ;  and  he  declared  that  it  did  suit  him  better,  "  a 
dum'd  sight." 

"  I  hedn'tmadeno  captations  on  gittin'  areg'lar  dinner 
tu-day,  bein'  'at  the'  wa'n't  nob'dy  here  but  me,"  Huldah 
apologized,  looking  up  at  the  clock  as  it  warned  for 
eleven.  "  I'm  dreffie  sorry  't  I  didn't  naow,  but  I'm 
a-goin'  t'  git  ye  some  nutcakes  an'  pie  an'  cheese,  an'  you'll 
hafter  stay  yer  stomerk  \vi'  them.  You  mus'  be  hungrier 
'n  a  bear,  eatin'  of  your  breakfas'  'fore  daylight,  I  s'pose, 
an'  a-traipsin'  raound  in  the  woods  all  the  fo'noon,"  and 
she  bustled  away  to  prepare  the  lunch,  in  spite  of  Sam's 
protesting  that  he  "  wa'n't  the  least  mite  hungry,  an'  'ould 
druther  set  an'  talk  'n  t'  eat." 

"  It  does  beat  all  natur',"  she  said,  with  an  emphatic 
and  rather  petulant  toss  of  her  head,  as  she  returned  from 
the  pantry  with  a  pie  and  a  plate  of  doughnuts,  "  'at  any 
body  can  enj'y  traipsin'  raound,  up-hill  an'  daown,  all  day 
long,  arter  a  leetle  insi' nificant  fox  !  An'  shoolin'  an' 
stumblin'  raound  the  lots  all  night  arter  coons  !  Ketch  me, 
'f  I  was  a  man.  But  you  men  folks  du  beat  all  creation  !" 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  'f  we  did,  putty  nigh,  'xceptin'  the 
womern  part  on' t.  That  beats  us  all  holler.  But  I'd  a 
good  deal  druther  ketch  ye  jest  as  ye  be.  I  hain't  hed  a 
chance  tu  speak  tu  ye  'lone  'fore  in  a  dawg's  age  !" 


86  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

"  I  do'  know  'f  nothin'  'at  the'  's  ben  t'  bender,  'f  ye 
wanted  tu,"  Huldah  said,  pouting  her  red  lips,  "  erless 
you'  d  forgot  where  we  lived.  You  hain't  ben  a-nigh  f'r  I  d' 
know  haow  long,  an'  ye  wouldn't  t'day  'f  you  hedn't  a- 
thought  the  haouse  was  afire  'n'  nob'dy  t'  hum,"  and  the 
pout  changed  to  a  smile. 

"  If  I  c'ld  raly  b'lieve  'at  the  time  seemed  long  sence  I'd 
ben  here  t'  anyb'dy  but  me,  I  sh'ld  be  turrible  glad  on  't, 
an'  the'  wouldn't  be  no  need  o'  settin'  the  haouse  afire  t' 
fetch  me.  But  ye  see,  Huldy,  yer  father  he  don't  set  no 
gret  by  folks  'at  goes  a-huntin',  no  more  'n  his  darter 
does,  'n'  so  I  hain't  felt  ezackly  free  'baout  comin'." 

"Why,  Sam  will  !  I  wa'n't  sayin'  'at  I  hed  anythin' 
agin  folkses  huntin'  ;  I  was  on'y  wonderin'  what  makes 
'em  lufter." 

"  Wai,  it's  kinder  natur',  I  s'pose,  borned  inter  some 
on  us,  same's  't  is  inter  haoun'  dawgs,  an'  we  can't  help 
a-runnin'  off  int'  the  woods.  Suthin'  takes  us.  An' 
when  't  'ain't  none  tew  pleasant  for  a  feller  t'  hum,  like 
'nough  he  goes  off  a-huntin'  er  a-fishin'  oftener  'n  he  would 
'f  'twas  pleasant.  Naow,  'f  I  hed  a  haouse  o'  my  own  an' 
someb'dy  t'  keep  it — wal,  say  as  this  is  kep',"  looking 
around  the  neat  kitchen  with  a  look  of  admiration  that 
grew  as  it  returned  and  lingered  on  the  bright  face  of  the 
young  housekeeper,  "an'  wa'n't  allus  a-scoldin'  an'  find- 
in'  fault,  I  p'sume  to  say  I  wouldn't  go  a-huntin'  more'n 
onct  a  week  in  the  season  on't,  'thaout  'twas  when  on- 
common  good  days  come  oncommon  often." 

11  The'  hain't  no  daoubt,"  Huldah  said,  rising  in  some 
confusion,  and  taking  the  tea-kettle  from  the  back  of  the 
stove,  going  out  to  fill  it,  talking  back  through  the  open 
door  as  she  went  to  the  pump,,  "  but  what  you  c'ld  hire 


UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP.  87 

someb'dy  nuther  to  keep  haouse  for  ye" — then  the  squeak 
ing  and  gurgling  crescendo  of  the  pump's  voice  drowned 
hers.  "  I'm  a-goin'  t'  make  ye  a  cup  o'  tea/'  returning 
with  the  kettle  and  setting  it  on  the  stove,  and  giving  the 
fire  an  enlivening  punch. 

"  I  wa'n't  a-meanin'  no  ^/ra/help,"  Sam  said — "  no, 
don't  make  me  no  tea— I'd  druther  you  wouldn't  take  no 
sech  trouble — no,  not  no  hired  help,  but  someb'dy 'at  'ould 
— 'at  thought  they  could  stan'  it  tu— tu  go  snucks  along 
wi'  me  a-ownin'  of  a  haouse,  an'  keepin'  on  it  for  me  an' 
her." 

"  Why,  Samwell  Lovell  !  Haow  you  du  go  on  !  Did 
anvbody  ever  !"  cried  Huldah,  glowing  with  blushes. 
Then  she  held  her  breath  to  hear  what,  she  was  sure,  her 
lover  now  must  ask.  But  Sam  was  frightened  into  dumb 
ness  by  his  own  unwonted  boldness  ;  and  at  last  when  the 
silence  was  becoming  painfully  awkward,  she  not  knowing 
what  else  to  say,  broke  it  with  the  unfortunate  remark  that 
"  The'  was  some  other  nat'ral  borned  hunter  up  on  the 
hill,  she  guessed,  for  she  hearn  a  haoun'  dawg  a-yollupin' 
up  there."  Sam  hurried  out  to  listen,  and  she  followed 
him. 

"  Wai,  by  the  gret  horn  spoon  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
familiar  long-drawn  notes  of  his  own  hound  struck  his  ear, 
"I'll  be  dum'd  if  that  hain't  Drive,  as  sure  as  shootin'  ! 
He's  brung  that  'ere  fox  back  I'm  the  Lord  knows  where  ! 
Yes,  sir,"  as  the  musical  cry  swelled  louder  from  the  near 
est  ridge,  "he's  jest  a-shovin'  on  him,  'n'  he's  a-goin'  t' 
cross  by  the  Butt' nuts,  'n'  I  b'lieve  I  c'n  head  him  !" 

Sam  was  in  the  kitchen  and  out  again  with  his  gun  in 
an  instant  and  speeding  across  the  fields  toward  the  well- 
known  runway,  where  three  great  butternut-trees  crowned 


£8  UNCLE   LISflA'S  SHOP. 

a  knoll  with  a  widespread  of  thick,  ungraceful  ramage. 
Sweetheart  and  doughnuts  were  forsaken,  love  almost  for 
gotten  and  hunger  quite,  in  the  ardor  of  the  chase,  though 
it  must  be  said  in  palliation  of  Sam's  abrupt  departure  that 
he  longed  to  give  Huldah  an  exhibition  of  his  skill  as  a 
hunter,  to  shoot  the  fox  before  her  eyes  and  presently  bring 
her  the  furry  trophy  of  his  prowess.  But  alas  for  his 
hopes  !  Before  he  was  within  the  longest  possible  gunshot 
of  the  knoll  he  saw  the  fox  crossing  it,  halting  for  a  moment 
to  look  back  at  the  bellowing  hound,  and  then  disappearing 
with  undulating  lopes  on  his  way  to  the  western  range. 
He  would  probably  play  when  he  reached  those  lines  of 
ledges,  Sam  thought,  and  after  a  little  hesitation  and  more 
than  one  wistful  glance  back  to  the  red  house,  he  went  for 
ward.  He  was  ashamed  to  return  now,  so  unsuccessful. 

"  My  !"  Huldah  said  to  herself,  as  with  her  plump  hand 
shading  her  eyes  she  watched  the  receding  form  of  her 
lover,  "  I  hope  to  goodness  he'll  git  him  !"  Then  when 
the  fox  appeared  and  disappeared  far  out  of  Sam's  reach, 
she  exhaled  her  long-held  breath  in  a  great  sigh,  not 
wholly  of  disappointment.  "  Wai,  I  don't  care,  he'll  come 
back  naow."  But  when  he  went  on  with  a  swinging  stride 
that  speedily  took  him  out  of  her  sight,  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  of  vexation.  '  The  'tarnal  great  fool  !  I  hope  't 
he  won't  never  come  a-nigh  me  agin  's  long  's  I  live  an' 
breathe,  an'  I  hope  't  that  won't  be  long— 1  do  !  What  a 
plegged  fool  I  was  t'  up  an'  tell  o'  hearin'  a  haoun'  !  I 
wish  't  the'  wa'n't  a  haoun'  dawg  ner  a  fox  in  this  wide- 
livin'  world  for  men  t'  go  shoolin'  an'  runnin'  an'  traipsin' 
arter  when  they  might  be  a-duin'  suthin'  wuth  while.  He 
cares  more  for  a  mis' able  sneakin'  fox  'n  he  does  for  me, 
or  anything  on  airth,  to  run  off  arter  one  an'  leave  me  jest 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  89 

when — I  wish  't  /  was  a  fox,  an'  then  mebby — Oh  ! 
wouldn't  I  keep  him  a-moggin'  a  spell — I  won't  never 
speak  to  him  agin  so  long  's  I  live  an'  breathe  !  Let  him 
hev  his  ol' haoun' an'  his  foxes  an'  his  hateful  oY  gun  an'  his 
everlastin'  huntin'  'f  he  likes  'em  better 'n  he  does  me.  I 
don't  care,  so  there,  naow  !"  But  she  was  choking  with 
alternating  tearful  fits  of  sorrow  and  anger  all  the  after 
noon,  and  when  her  father  and  mother  and  little  sister  re 
turned  from  the  Thanksgiving  at  "  gran'thers,"  they  won 
dered  to  find  her  so  woebegone. 

"  I  hedn't  no  idee,"  said  her  father  to  her  mother  after 
furtively  watching  her  as  he  sat  warming  his  hands  at  the 
stove,,  "  'at  Huldy  keered  a  row  o'  pins  'baout  goin'  t' 
father's." 

When  miles  away  on  one  of  the  farthest  ridges  of  the 
western  hills,  Sam  at  sundown  shot  his  fox,  and  gave  the 
dying  brute  a  spiteful  if  merciful  finishing  kick  in  the 
head,  he  said,  "  Blast  yer  pictur',  I  wish  't  you  hed  ha' 
gone  clean  t'  N'  HampshY,  'n  I  never  'd  see  er  heard  on 
ye,  dum  ye  '  You've  cost  me  more  'n  any  fox  ever  cost 
a  man  afore  sen  the'  was  foxes  an'  men  an'  women  folks 
in  this  world!"  He  bore  an  aching  heart  for  many  a 
weary  day  before  he  forgave  himself  or  was  forgiven  by 
Huldah. 

One  day  in  the  winter  Huldah  came  to  Aunt  Jerusha 
on  an  errand.  "I  wanter  borry  your  wool  caards,  Aunt 
Jerushy,  to  caard  some  rolls  for  father  some  socks.  Aourn 
is  lent,  we  do'  know  where."  In  the  conversation  that  ac 
companied  the  borrowing  and  lending  of  the  cards,  Aunt 
Jerusha  asked  when  Huldah  had  seen  Sam  will  Lovel,  to 
which  Huldah  replied  with  a  show  of  spitefulness  that  her 
wistful  eyes  belied,  that  she  had  not  seen  him  since  about 


90  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

Thanksgiving  Day,  "an'  didn't  wanter,  as  she  knowed 
on  !"  Whereat  Aunt  Jerusha  was  surprised  and  grieved, 
for  it  was  her  cherished  hope  that  these  two,  her  favorites 
among  all  the  young  folks  of  Danvis,  would  some  day 
make  a  match.  After  some  coaxing  Huldah  told  her  old 
friend  her  grievance,  and  so  Uncle  Lisha  came  to  know  in 
part  the  story  of  Sam's  Thanksgiving. 


X. 

LITTLE   SIS. 

11  GOOD  Lord  o'  massy  !  if  I  hain't  jest  abaout  clean 
tuckered  aout  !"  Mrs.  Purington  gasped,  exhaling  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  as  she  dropped  her  portly  person  into  a 
creaking  splint-bottom  chair  in  her  own  kitchen,  then 
flopped  her  sun-bonnet  into  her  short  lap,  and  stroked  the 
hair  back  with  both  hands  from  her  heated  brow. 
"  Whew  !  't  't  ain't  hot,  jest  a-roastin',  bilin'  hot  ! 
Huldy,  reach  me  a  dipper  o'  water,  won't  ye?  I'm  e'en 
a' most  choked.  I  sot  that  ere  pitcher  o'  emptin's  on  the 
winder  stool  ;  you  ta'  keer  on  em,  won't  ye?"  Huldah 
brought  her  mother  a  quart  dipper  full  of  cool  water  from 
the  pump,  that  with  its  dolorous  squeaks  and  hollow 
groans  always  reminded  her  now  of  last  year's  Thanks 
giving  Day. 

"  Lord  o'  massy  !  I  b'lieve  I  be  roasted,"  Mrs.  Pur 
ington  exclaimed,  regarding  her  scarlet  reflection  in  the 
bright  interior  of  the  tin  dipper,  after  she  had  taken  a  long 
draught.  "  Wai,"  she  said,  after  resting  the  dipper  on 
her  knee,  and  wiping  her  face  with  a  corner  of  her  apron, 
"  I've  ben  all  'raound  Robin  Hood's  barn  tu  borry  them 
emptin's.  Fust  I  went  tu  Joel's,  though  I  might  ha' 
knowed  better  'n  tu,  for  Jemimy  she  allers  uses  milk 
risin'  ;  mis' able  flat- tasted  bread  it  makes  tew.  Ketch  me 
a-makin'  bread  wi'  milk  risin'  !  Then  arter  I'd  sot  an' 


92  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

talked  wi'  Jemimy  a  spell — Joel,  he's  got  a  '  consarn ' 
a-workin'  on  his  mind,  an'  he's  a-goin'  off  on  a  preachin' 
taower  jes'  's  soon  's  they  get  through  hayin'.  Shouldn't 
wonder  a  mite  'f  he  did  afore  if  the  weather  happens  tu 
come  on  ketchin'  ;  'n'  like  's  not  't  will,  for  dog  days 
hain't  over  yit,  an'  nob'dy  never  knows  what  the  weather 
's  a-goin'  t'  be  in  dog-days.  The  idear  o'  goin'  shoolin' 
off  wi'  one  o'  his  '  consarns,'  leavin'  her  an'  them 
child' n  an'  the  farm  tu  'tend  tu  !  Ketch  me  a-marryin' 
a  Quaker,  'at's  allus  lierble  tu  be  took  with  a  '  consarn '  I 
Arter  I  sot  an'  talked  wi'  Jemimy  a  spell  I  went  on  tu 
Briggses  ;  but  Miss'  Briggs  she  hain't  got  nothin'  but 
yeast-cakes,  an' I  hain't  uster  usin'  them.  So  arter  I'd 
sot  an'  rested  me  a  spell — she's  got  a  new  quilt  on  the 
frames — pretty  time  o'  year  tu  be  a-quiltin' — sunflower 
patch-work  it  is,  an'  '11  look  c'nsid'able  scrumptious 
when  't  's  done.  I  went  on  tu  Hillses,'  an'  Miss'  Hill 
she'd  jest  sot  a  mess  tu  workin',  'n'  so  shehedn'tgot 
none.  Jozeff  he's  a-hayin'  on  't,  arter  his  fashion  !  Then 
I  went  along  over  tu  Uncle  Lisher's,  an'  there  I  made 
aout  tu  git  me  some  emptin's.  Uncle  Lisher  he's  jes' 
fairly  got  tu  hayin'  on 't,  hain't  ben  begun  more' n  tew 
three  days.  Tom  Hamlin  he  's  a  helpin'  on  him — payin' 
up  his  shoemakin',  like  's  not.  They've  just  hed  a  letter 
f'm  George  aout  tu  the  'Hio.  Says  crops  is  lookin' 
well  in  the  'Hio,  an'  he's  a-duin'  well,  an'  wants  'em 
both  to  come  aout  there  an'  live  'long  wi'  him.  I  don't 
scasely  b'lieve  they  ever  will,  but  I  do'  know.  They're 
a-gettin'  'long  in  years,  an'  it's  a  turrible  ways  off.  Why, 
that  letter  was  wrote  the  last  o'  June  or  fo'  part  o'  July,  an' 
here  it  is  the  middle  of  August  !  Wai,"  taking  another 
draught  from  the  dipper,  and  making  slow  preparations 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  93 

to  rise,  "  we've  got  us  some  emptin's  tu  start  with,  an 
naow  we've  got  tu  set  tu  work  an'  make  some.  Hope  yer 
father  won't  tip  over  the  pot  agin,  pokin'  raound  in  the 
suller.  You've  skum  the  milk,  I  s'pose,  an'  got  the  pans 
washed  an'  scalded  ?" 

"Yes,"  Huldah  answered  from  the  sink,  where  she 
stood  washing  and  peeling  potatoes. 

"You  be  dreffle  mumpin'  this  summer,"  said  her 
mother,  after  waiting  a  little  for  her  to  speak  further. 
"  It's  jest  yis  an''  no  with  ye,  an'  ye  never  laugh  ner  sing 
a  mite  's  ye  uster.  I  b'lieve  I'd  orter  steep  up  some 
boneset  an'  hev  ye  take  some;  /b'lieve  yer  stomerk 's 
aouten  order. " 

"  Why,  mother,  I'm  jest  as  tough  as  a  bear,"  Huldah 
declared,  blushing  and  making  a  brave  effort  to  laugh  ; 
she  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  thought  of  boneset  as  a 
remedy  for  her  ill — heartsease  would  be  more  to  the  pur 
pose,  it  seemed  to  her. 

"It  is  a  turrible  job  tu  fix  them  olf  pertaters  fit  for 
cookin',"  said  Mrs.  Purington,  now  apparently  just  notic 
ing  her  daughter's  occupation.  "  Seem  's  'ough  we'd  ort 
tu  hev  some  new  ones  by  this  time.  Wonder  'f  yer  father 
's  dug  int'  any  hills  tu  see  ?  Where's  Sis  ?"  she  asked, 
after  looking  thoughtfully  at  Huldah  and  the  potatoes  as 
she  went  to  hang  the  dipper  and  sun-bonnet  on  their  re 
spective  nails.  "' I  hain't  seen  nor  hearn  nothin'  on  her 
sen  I  come  in."  It  was  indeed  noticeable  that  the  six- 
year-old  pet  of  the  household  had  not  even  in  so  short  a 
time  in  a  wakeful  forenoon  in  some  way  made  her  where 
abouts  known,  and  her  mother  wondered  now  with  a  ma 
ternal  qualm  of  conscience  that  she  had  not  sooner 
remarked  the  absence  of  the  child's  voice,  talking  to  her- 


94  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

self,  or  asking  endless  unanswerable  questions,  or  singing 
her  rag  doll  to  imaginary  sleep.  She  suddenly  realized 
how  still  it  was,  that  there  was  no  sound  in  the  kitchen 
but  the  buzzing  of  the  flies,  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  and 
the  fluttering  splash  and  chip,  chip  of  the  potato  washing 
and  paring,  and  that  from  outdoors  came  no  sound  but 
the  lazy  "  crating"  of  the  hens,  the  dolorous  mixture  of 
peep  and  cluck  wherewith  the  half-grown  chickens  ex 
pressed  their  contentment,  the  dry  clap  of  a  locust's  wings, 
followed  by  his  long,  shrill  cry  when  he  had  lighted  in  the 
chip-littered  yard,  and  from  farther  off  the  faint  ringing 
of  the  mowers'  whetted  scythes. 

"Why,"  said  Huldah,  coming  with  a  start  out  of  a 
maze  of  troubled  thoughts,  "  she  wasa-tewin'  'raoundan' 
a-pesterin'  me  half  tu  death  'baoutthis  an'  that  she  want 
ed  t'  du,  an'  at  last  I  gi'n  her  her  little  baskit  'at — 'at  she 
thinks  so  much  on,  an'  tol'  her  she  might  gwup  in  the 
stump  lot  a-blackbaryin'  a  spell.  I  tol'  her  she  mustn't 
gwaout  o'  sight  o'  the  haouse." 

"  Wai,"  Mrs.  Purington  said,  looking  out  toward  the 
hills,  "  I  guess  you  hedn't  orter  let  her.  I  d'  know  's 
she'd  orter  gwup  there  'lone.  She'd  better  ben  a-watchin' 
the  ol'  hen  turkey  an'  her  young  uns.  If  they  git  up  tu 
the  aidge  of  the  woods  the  foxes  '11  ketch  every  identical 
one  on  'em.  Oh  dear  me  suz  !  Seems  's  'ough  the 
pleggid  foxes  hed  ort  tu  git  some  scaser,  wi'  Sam  Lovel 
an'  mongst  'em  a-huntin'  an'  a-haounin'  on  'em  half  the 
year  ;  but  they  don't.  Seems  's  'ough  that  young  un  ort 
tu  be  some'eres  in  sight  er  a-comin'  hum  by  this  time. 
Haow  long's  she  ben  gone  ?" 

"She's  ben  gone,"  Huldah  answered,  looking  at  the 
clock — "  why,  it's  most  an  hour  an'  a  half  !  Mother,  'f 


UNCLE    LIS/fA'S   SHOP.  95 

you'll  put  the  pertaters  in  the  kittle,  I'll  go  an'  git  her. 
'F  I  don't  git  back  soon  'nough,  the  pork  's  all  cut  an' 
in  the  fryin'-pan  ready  for  fresh-nin'."  So  putting  on 
her  sun-bonnet  she  went  out,  her  mother  following  to  the( 
door  to  say,  "  Jes'  's  like  's  not  she's  over  in  the  medder 
'long  wi'  yer  father  'n'  the  rest  on  'em."  With  this  hope 
Huldah  went  out  toward  the  meadow  till  she  could  see 
her  father  and  the  two  hired  men  swinging  their  scathes 
with  even  strokes,  but  there  was  no  little  sister  there,  and 
she  went  on  quickly,  crossing  the  brook  where  its  summer- 
shrunken  current,  wimpled  among  the  stones  in  the  shade 
of  a  thicket  of  young  firs.  She  saw  a  print  of  a  small  shoe 
in  the  soft  gravel,  half  filled  with  water,  and  pointing  toward 
the  berry  lot.  Surely,  she  thought,  she  must  soon  find  her 
now,  and  listened  a  moment  with  the  expectation  of  hear 
ing  the  child  prattling  to  herself  or  rustling  among  the 
bushes.  But  she  heard  nothing  but  the  hum  of  insects, 
the  chirp  of  crickets,  and  an  occasional  bird  note,  and 
calling,  got  no  answer.  But  she  must  see  her  presently, 
for  it  was  impossible  to  keep  out  of  sight  in  the  field  that 
the  axe  had  swept  all  tree  growth  from  only  two  years 
ago.  But  when  she  entered  it,  after  beating  along  its  lower 
edge  for  a  while,  she  was  surprised  to  see  how  tall  the 
sprouts  and  bushes  had  grown  since  she  had  last  been 
there.  It  now  seemed  hopeless  enough  to  look  here  for 
one  grown  to  full  stature,  much  more  so  to  find  a  child 
whose  head  would  be  overtopped  by  the  lowest  of  the 
blackberry  brambles  that  reared  themselves  with  rampant 
growth  about  every  blackened  stump  and  log  heap. 

Perhaps  Polly  had  fallen  asleep  on  some  inviting  bed  of 
moss  by  the  brook.  Nothing  was  likelier,  and  it  was 
strange  she  had  not  sooner  thought  of  it.  Returning,  she 


()G  UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP. 

followed  all  the  turns  of  the  little  watercourse  along  the 
border  of  the  stump  lot,  but  saw  no  living  thing  she 
caredto  ;  nothing  but  a  scared  trout  flashing  across  the 
shadows  of  a  pool  ;  heard  nothing  but  the  warning  cry  of 
a  mother  partridge  and  the  startling  whir  of  wings  when 
the  old  bird  and  her  well-grown  brood  burst  away  in  brief 
flight,  and  then  the  lisping  call  that  gathered  the  scattered 
family.  Why  would  not  her  little  chick  of  a  sister  hear 
and  answer  her  call  ?  Huldah  went  back  into  the  brush 
and  swiftly  threaded  the  maze  of  cowpaths,  and  with 
laborious  climbing  gained  the  tops  of  the  tallest  stumps, 
whose  height  showed  how  deep  the  snow  was  when  the 
trees  were  felled,  and  scanned  all  the  thickets  she  could 
overlook,  always  hoping  to  see  somewhere  among  the 
tangle  of  stalks  and  leafage  the  little  pink  sun-bonnet 
moving  about.  Once  she  thought  she  had  surely  caught 
sight  of  it,  but  on  approach  it  proved  to  be  only  the  full- 
flowered  spike  of  a  willow  herb  nodding  to  the  breeze  or 
bending  under  the  shifting  weight  of  the  bees.  She  called 
loudly  and  often,  but  was  answered  only  by  the  mewing 
of  a  catbird  that  flitted  near  yet  unseen  in  the  thickets, 
and  by  the  sudden  jangle  of  a  cowbell  as  its  startled  wearer 
crashed  away  through  the  brush.  Sometimes  the  mysteri 
ous  murmurs  of  the  forest  would  fool  her  ear  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  then  when  she  listened  they  seemed  to  come  from 
everywhere  and  could  be  located  nowhere.  One  moment 
she  was  so  vexed  and  impatient  that  if  she  had  come  upon 
the  little  wanderer  her  first  impulse  would  have  been  to 
give  her  a  scolding  ;  the  next  she  was  choking  with  a 
swelling  ache  of  dread  that  she  would  have  given  the  world 
to  have  cured  by  a  sight  of  the  yellow-polled  pet  and 
tease,  whom  if  she  might  but  find  alive  and  well  she 


UNCLE   LI  SIT  A' S   SHOP.  97 

would  never  scold  again.  So  she  hurried  on  in  her  fruit 
less  search  till  she  came  to  the  upper  end  of  the  half- 
cleared  field  where  the  lofty  branches  of  the  great  trees 
linteled  the  doorway  of  the  ancient  forest,  whose  depths 
and  darkness  and  mystery  she  feared,  but  would  dare  to 
enter,  if  there  was  one  promised  chance  of  her  finding  the 
lost  child  there.  Yes,  lost.  The  fact  with  all  its  terrible 
possibilities  forced  itself  upon  her,  and  horrible  visions 
floated  in  a  swiftly  returning  procession  before  her  misty 
eyes  of  the  little  form  lying  dead  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice, 
or  drowned  in  a  brook  pool,  or  torn  by  wild  beasts,  or  at 
best  stumbling  blindly  onward  in  a  craze  of  fright  perhaps 
to  a  worse  death  by  starvation  and  terror.  It  would  be 
only  a  waste  of  precious  time  for  her  to  go  into  the  woods. 
There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  to  hasten  home  and 
rouse  the  neighborhood  for  the  search.  She  mounted  a 
great  boulder  for  one  more  unrewarded  look,  and  to  make 
another  unanswered  call.  She  could  see  her  home  bask 
ing  in  the  August  sun  with  such  a  restful  air  as  if  it  was 
never  to  shelter  the  sorrow  that  was  soon  to  enter  it  ;  and 
a  wood  thrush  filled  the  cloisters  of  the  woods  with  his 
sweet  chime  of  silver  bells  as  if  there  were  naught  but  peace 
and  happiness  in  their  quiet  depths.  Huldah  was  no 
saint,  and  she  felt  an  angry  resentment  of  this  mockery  of 
her  trouble.  She  could  have  wrung  the  thrush's  neck  to 
end  the  song  so  ill-attuned  to  her  feelings,  and  it  would 
have  been  a  slight  relief  to  see  some  token  of  disturbance 
about  the  house,  though  it  would  not  have  quieted  her 
self-reproach.  If  this  wrathful  feeling  had  not  been  over 
powered  by  the  stronger  emotion  of  grief  before  she  reached 
home,  it  might  have  been  somewhat  appeased  by  the  per 
vading  air  of  anxiety  that  brooded  over  the  household. 


98  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

Her  father,  watching  for  her  as  he  smoked  his  after-dinner 
pipe,  came  out  to  meet  her,  questioning  her  with  a 
troubled  face.  She  only  halted  to  say  in  a  choked  voice, 
"  O  father,  she's  lost  !  Hurry,  an'  raout  aout  every 
body  I"  and  answered  the  inquiring  look  of  the  hired 
men  who  stopped  their  meditative  whittling  and  arose  from 
the  doorstep  at  her  approach  with,  "  Polly's  lost  !  Go 
an'  tell  'em  all  tu  come  an'  find  her  !"  Her  mother, 
meeting  her  at  the  door,  heard  this,  and  retreating  to  -the 
nearest  chair,  sat  down,  spreading  a  helpless  hand  on 
either  knee.  "  Oh  dear  me  suz  !  Huldy,  I  don't  see 
haovv  on  airth  you  ever,  ever  come  tu  let  her  go  !" 

"O  mother,  don't/  Is  the'  any  tea  left?  I'm 
a-chokin',  an'  tuckered."  She  poured  out  a  cupful  from 
the  teapot,  swallowed  it  at  a  draught,  and  went  quickly 
out.  "I'm  a-goin'  tu  Joel's  an'  Solon's  an'  Hillses'  an' 
that  way  's  fur  's  I  can  tu  tell  'em/'  she  said  to  her 
father,  who  was  hurriedly  consulting  with  the  men. 
"You  an'  John  an'  Lije  got'  other  ways.  I  searched 
and  hollered  all  over  the  stump  lot,  an'  never  seen  nothin' 
on  her  but  her  track  where  she  crossed  the  brook,  a-goin'," 
and  she  hastened  down  the  road. 

"  Thee  don't  say  so  !"  Jemima  Bartlett  said,  her 
placid  face  full  of  pity  when  Huldah  briefly  told  her 
errand.  "The  poor  little  precious!  I'll  call  the  men 
folks  right  off  up  aouten  the  medder.  They'll  come  tu 
rights  when  they  hear  the  horn.  Thee  '  d  better  come  in 
an'  sed  daown  an'  rest  thee  a  spell,  thee  does  look  so  beat 
aout,  poor  child!" 

But  Huldah  sped  on  while  the  blasts  of  the  conch- 
shell  were  echoing  from  the  hills,  and  when  she  looked 
back  as  she  turned  into  Solon  Briggs's  yard,  she  saw 


UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP.  99 

Joel  and  his  hired  man  trudging  along  the  road  toward  her 
home. 

Solon  happened  to  be  mending  his  "  hay-riggin',"  and, 
dropping  his  tools  on  the  door-yard  chips,  he  hastened 
away  as  soon  as  he  heard  her  message,  stopping  only  to 
ask  if  it  would  be  "  more  essifactious  for  him  tu  go  an' 
help  her  raise  a  human  cry  ?" 

Joseph  Hill  came  to  the  door  in  his  stockings  trying  to 
rub  and  gape  away  the  left-over  sleepiness  of  an  after-din 
ner  nap.  When  he  had  slowly  pulled  on  his  boots  he 
was  ready  to  go  ;  he  hardly  knew  which  way  till  he  had 
"  told  M'ri,"  who  came  with  the  youngest  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  two  a-foot  tugging  at  her  skirts  and  peeping 
from  behind  them,  while  she  offered  her  condolences.  The 
whistling  growl  of  Gran'ther  Hill  came  from  where  he  sat 
in  his  arm-chair  at  the  back  door,  asking  many  questions  : 
"What  is  't  yer  a-talkin'  'baout,  M'rier?  Somebody 
lost?  Who  is  it?  Purin't'ns'  young  un  ?  Don't  Pur 
in't'ns'  folks  know  no  better  'ntu  let  a  babygwoff  int'  the 
woods?  Why  didn't  they  chuck  her  int'  the  cist'n? 
Then  they  'd  ha'  knowed  where  she  was  !  Wai,  I  s'pose 
we  all  got  tu  turn  aout  an'  sarch  arter  her,"  and  he  came 
stamping  through  the  house  with  his  hat  on  and  his  cane 
in  his  hand.  "You  needn't  talk  to  me,  M'rier!"  he 
said,  glowering  fiercely  at  his  daughter-in-law  when  she 
mildly  protested  against  his  going,  "  I  hain't  ol',  nuther,  I 
tell  ye.  Eighty-five  year  hain't  nothin'  tu  a  man  'at's  ben 
where  I  ben,  when  the's  babies  lost  in  the  woods  !  I've 
tracked  Injins,  an'  I  guess  I  c'n  track  a  foolish  little 
young  un  !"  and  he  marched  off  with  his  son  with  as 
much  alacrity  as  he  had  responded  to  Ethan  Allen's  call 
in  the  long  past  May  of  his  youth. 


ioo  .        UNCLE   LI  SIT  A' S   SHOP. 

Presently  Huldah  was  at  Uncle  Lisha's  telling  her  sym 
pathizing  old  friend,  Aunt  Jerusha,  of  the  loss  of  the 
'child,  and  she  added,  as  she  had  not  before,  "  It's  all  my 
'fault — I  let  her  go  a-baryin'  !"  The  old  man  was  in  the 
shop  mending  a  piece  of  harness,  and  the  door  between 
the  shop  and  the  house  being  open,  as  it  usually  was  when 
he  had  no  visitors,  his  ears  caught  the  girl's  voice  and 
something  of  her  story. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !  Huldy,  what's  that  you're 
a-sayin'  ?  Sissy  lost?  Haow  ?  Where?"  he  shouted 
as  he  suddenly  appeared  in  the  doorway  with  the  tug  in 
his  hand.  Then  she  told  him  all  she  could,  repeating 
that  it  was  all  her  fault,  for  she  found  a  little  comfort  in 
making  this  confession  now. 

"  Wai,"  pitching  the  tug  back  into  the  shop,  and  un 
tying  his  apron  and  sloughing  it  off  on  the  threshold, 
"  I'll  go  an'  du  what  I  can.  I  c'n  waddle  'raound  in 
the  woods  arter  a  fashion,  an'  I  c'n  holler  c'nsid'able,  an' 
I  tell  ye  hollerin'  caounts  sech  times.  Fust  I'll  go  an' 
holler  fer  Tawmus.  Say,  Huldy,  I'll  tell  ye,"  he  said, 
turning  toward  her  while  one  upstretched  hand  groped 
along  the  pegs  for  his  hat,  "  the's  one  man  in  Danvis  'at 
I  drutherhev  a-sarchin'  for  Sissy 'an  all  the  hull  caboodle 
on  us,  ol'  an'  young,  big  an'  little.  He  knows  the  woods 
julluk  a  book,  an'  c'n  read  every  sign  in  'em — an'  that 
'ere  man  is  Sam  will  Lovel  !  You're  spryer  'n  I  be,  'n' 
some  spryer  'n  Jerushy,  I  guess.  You  cut  over  to  his 
haouse  an'  start  him  !" 

"  O  Uncle  Lisher,  I  can  1 1"  Huldah  gasped,  her  hot, 
tired  face  paling  an  instant,  then  burning  redder  with 
blushes,  "  I  can't  !  Someb'dy  else  '11  tell  him.  You 
go  an'  tell  him  !" 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  101 

"  I  tell  ye,  Huldy, you  mus'  go  !  The'  hain't  no  time 
for  rne  ta  turkle  over  there,  an'  you  comin'  this  way  they'll 
depend  on  your  tellin'  on  him  !  Good  airth  an'  seas  ! 
gal,  this  hain't  no  time  for  stinkin'  pride  'f  you  be  aout 
with  him.  He'd  sarch  tu  the  eend  o'  the  airth  if  you  ast 
him — he  warships  the  graound  you  tread  !  Go  right  stret, 
an'  clipper,  tew  !"  and  having  got  his  hat  on  he  took  her 
by  the  shoulders  and  gently  pushed  her  outdoors,  and  as 
far  as  the  gate,  facing  her  the  desired  way.  She  went  on, 
accelerating  her  pace  till  she  was  running  when  she  came 
to  the  door  of  the  Lovel  homestead,  caring  for  nothing 
now  so  much  as  the  finding  of  her  lost  sister. 

Mrs.  Lovel,  Sam's  stepmother,  a  gaunt,  hard  featured 
woman,  came  to  the  open  door,  beating  the  threshold 
with  a  broom  to  frighten  away  some  intruding  chickens. 
"Shoo!  you  pesterin'  torments!  I  wish 't  the  aigs  o' 
yer  breed  was  destr'yed  !  Why,  massy  sakes  alive  ! 
Huldy  Pur' n'  t' n  !  What  be  you  in  sech  a  pucker  '  baout  ?' ' 
she  cried  in  astonishment  when  Huldah's  swift  approach 
diverted  her  attention  from  the  objects  of  her  displeasure. 
"  Why,  you  look  's  'ough  you'd  ben  dragged  through  a 
brush  heap,  an'  scairt  aouten  your  seben  senses  !" 

"  Oh,  Miss'  Lovell,  Polly  's  lost  in  the  woods. 
Where's  Sam  well  ?  I  want  him  tu  help  find  her.  Where 
is  he?" 

"  Polly  lost  !"  Mrs.  Lovell  repeated,  regarding  Huldah 
with  a  reproachful  severity  in  her  countenance  that  the 
poor  girl  felt  she  deserved.  "  Up  back  o'  your  haouse  ? 
Wai,  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  mite  'f  you  never  faound  her 
a-livin'.  Like 's  anyways  she'll  tumble  off 'm  the  rocks 
an'  break  her  neck,  'f  the'  don't  suthin'  nuther  ketch  her 
afore.  Some  on  'em  was  a-tellin'  o'  hearin'  a  wolf  a-haowl- 


102  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

in'  an'  a-haowlin'  t'  other  night,  an'  some  thinks  the' 
's  a  painter  a-hantin'  'raound.  The'  'sallus  bears,  an' they 
du  say 'at  the'  hain't  nothin'  'at  bears  likes  better'  t'  eat 
'n  child' n.  There  's  them  young  ones  'at  sassed  Lijer, 
wan't  it  ?  Ye  know  the'  was  three  bears,  on'y  jest  three, 
come  aouten  the  woods  an'  eat  forty  on  'em  !" 

Huldah,  rejecting  such  consolation  with  raised  hands 
and  averted  face,  asked  again  for  Sam. 

"  Sam  !  Humph  !  Sure  'nough,  where  is  he?  You 
tell.  Him  an'  his  father  finished  up  hayin'  yist'd'y,  an' 
of  course  he  hed  tu  put  off  a  bee-huntin'  the  fust  thing 
arter  breakfus'  this  mornin'  ;  nob'dy  knows  which  way. 
He'd  a  'tarnal  sight  better  ben  a-fencin'  the  stacks  so  't 
the  kyows  c'ld  be  turned  int'  the  medder.  An'  Lovel, 
he's  a-putterin'  'raound  daown  in  the  back  lot  'baout 
suthin'  't  hain't  no  vally,  Til  warrant.  O  my  eyes  an' 
Betty  Martin  !  If  these  men  hain't  'nough  tu  drive  any 
womern  distracted!  Haow  ol'  was  Polly?"  as  if  the 
bright  little  life  was  assuredly  ended. 

"  Six,  the  twenty  fourth  o'  June,"  Huldah  answered, 
and  turning  away  went  wearily  homeward,  half  the  hope 
dying  out  of  her  heart,  now  that  there  was  no  hope  of  find 
ing  Sam. 

When  Joel  Bartlett  arrived  he  went  in  and  shook  hands 
with  Mrs.  Purington  as  solemnly  as  he  performed  the 
same  ceremony  when  he  "  broke  the  meetin'  "  on  First 
and  Fifth  Days.  "  I  wanter  tell  thee,  Mary  Pur'n't'n, 
tu  keep  quiet  in  thy  mind,"  he  said.  "  Aour  Heavenly 
Father,  withaout  whose  knowledge  not  a  sparrer  falls  tu  the 
graound,  will  ta'  keer  of  a  precious  little  child  ;  an'  I  feel 
it  bore  in  upon  me  'at  thy  little  darter  will  be  restored  tu 
thee.  Sech  poor  insterments  as  we  be  o'  His'n,  we  will  du 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  103 

aour  best  indivors.  An'  naovv,  Mary,  keep  quiet  in  thy 
mind,  an'  seek  for  stren'th  in  Him  tu  help  thee  tu  bear 
this  grievious  trial  o'  waitin'  on  His  will." 

The  rescue  party  had  been  quickly  mustered,  and  the 
plan  of  search  agreed  upon.  It  heartened  Huldah  when 
she  reached  home  to  know  that  twenty-five  or  thirty  stal 
wart  men  were  already  ranging  the  woods  in  quest  of  her 
lost  sister,  all  so  inspired  with  neighborly  kindness  that 
they  would  spare  themselves  no  pain  or  hardship  in  the 
search. 

But  oh,  if  the  keenest  and  bravest  woodsman  among  all 
these  hills  were  only  on  the  same  quest  !  Why  of  all  the 
days  in  the  year  must  he  have  chosen  this  most  anxious 
one  of  a1  lifetime  wherein  to  go  bee-hunting  ?  Huldah 
mentally  relegated  the  bees  to  that  limbo  whither  she  had 
long  before  in  like  manner  banished  the  foxes. 


XL 

SAM  LOVEL'S  BEE-HUNTING. 

AWAY  up  on  the  mountain-side,  where  some  hopeful 
pioneer  had  hewn  out  of  the  wilderness  a  few  acres  with 
slight  and  remote  possibilities  of  a  future  pasture,  Sam 
Lovel  was  wallowing  at  noon  among  the  golden  rods,  wil 
low-herbs,  and  asters  that  filled  this  wild  garden  with  yel 
low  and  pink  and  blue  and  white  bloom,  yet  more  varied 
with  the  heightening  and  deepening  of  their  colors  by  sun 
light  and  shadow,  and  contrast.  The  bees  were  making 
the  most  of  such  bountiful  pasturage  ;  the  clearing  droned 
with  their  incessant  hum,  and  the  drowsy  murmur  of  their 
toil  seemed  to  have  lulled  the  forest  to  sleep,  so  still  were 
all  its  depths.  Sam  had  no  trouble  to  imprison  one  of  the 
busy  horde  in  his  bee-box,  but  more  to  line  his  liberated 
captive  and  the  mates  returning  with  her,  for  the  little 
square  of  sunlit  sky  was  flecked  with  hundreds  of  hurrying 
brown  specks.  But  his  sharp  eyes  were  not  easily  foiled 
when  he  set  them  fairly  to  their  work,  and  he  had  not  lain 
long  on  his  back  among  the  ferns  before  he  caught  the 
airy  trail  of  the  bees  that  carried  their  burdens  of  sweets 
from  his  box,  set  on  the  nearest  tall  stump.  He  did  not 
follow  far  into  the  woods  before  he  found  the  great  tree 
where  they  were  hoarding  their  wealth.  ;'  Tu  easy  faound 
for  fun/'  he  said,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe  and  began  to  cut 
his  initials  on  the  trunk  of  the  old  maple,  "  butbee-huntin' 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  105 

's  better  'n  no  huntin',  an'  more  fun  'n  fencin'  stacks  'at 
c'n  jes'  's  well  wait  a  spell  while  the  rowen  grows,  er 
a-hearin'  everlastin'  tewin'  an'  scoldin'.  An'  it  helps 
tol'able  well  ter  keep  a  feller's  mind  off  'm  onprofitable 
thinkin'.  Wai,  there  you  be,  Mister  L.,"  slowly  push 
ing  his  knife  shut  against  his  thigh  as  he  critically  regarded 
his  carving,  "  an'  you  're  the  best  letter  I  got  in  my 
name,  for  the'  's  an  1  in  Huldy.  I  sh'd  like  tu  put  tew 
more  on  ye  in  her'n.  Ho  hum  !  Wai,  come,  you  dum'd 
ol'  long-laigged  fool  of  a  S.  L.,  le's  go  an'  find  another 
bee  tree."  And  he  took  himself  back  to  the  clearing. 
He  captured  a  bee  on  the  first  "  yaller  top"  he  came  to, 
and  soon  established  another  line,  but  it  took  much  longer 
to  trace  it  to  the  bee's  home,  and  when  he  had  set  his 
mark  on  this,  it  was  lime  to  be  going  to  his  own  home. 
He  took  his  unerring  course  through  the  pathless  woods, 
stopping  now  and  then  to  rest  on  a  log  or  knoll  that  seemed 
to  be  set  with  its  cushion  of  moss  on  purpose  for  him. 
During  one  of  these  halts,  when  half  way  through  the 
woods,  he  heard  a  cry,  so  strange  that  he  paused  to  listen 
for  a  repetition  of  it  while  his  lighted  match  went  out  be 
fore  it  reached  his  pipe,  or  the  pipe  his  mouth.  Once 
more  the  distressful  wail  struck  his  ear,  whether  far  away 
or  only  faint  and  near  he  could  not  tell.  "  Wai,"  letting 
out  his  held  breath  and  striking  another  match,  "  'f  I've 
got  another  painter  on  my  hands,  I  wish  't  I  hed  the  ol' 
Ore  Bed  'long.  But  like  'nough  'tain't  nothin'  but  a 
bluejay  'at's  struck  a  new  noise— I  thought  they  hed  'em 
all  a' ready,  though."  And  he  went  on,  pausing  a  little 
at  times  to  listen  to  and  locate  the  voice,  which  presently 
ceased.  "  'F  I  hed  a  gun  I'd  go  an'  see  what  kind  of  a 
critter  's  a-makin'  on't,"  he  said,  and  then  half  forgot  it. 


io6  UNCLE  LISIIA'S   SHOP. 

He  had  come  to  where  he  got  glimpses  of  the  broad  day 
light  through  the  palisades  of  the  forest's  western  border, 
and  where  long  glints  of  the  westering  sun  gilded  patches 
of  ferns  and  wood  plants  and  last  year' s  sear  leaves,  when 
his  quick  wood-sight,  glancing  everywhere  and  noting 
everything,  fell  upon  a  little  bright-colored  Indian  basket 
overset  in  a  tuft  of  ferns,  with  a  few  blackberries  in  it  and 
others  spilled  beside  it.  "Why,"  he  said,  picking  it  up 
and  examining  it,  "that's  the  baskit  I  gin'  little  Polly 
Pur'n't'n  last  year  !  It  hain't  ben  dropped  long,  for  the 
baries  is  fresh,  V  there's  a  leaf  't  ain't  wilted  scacely. 
She  dropped  it,  for  there's  some  puckerbaries,  an'  the' 
wouldn't  nob'dy  but  a  young  un  pick  them.  Haow  com' 
that  little  critter  'way  up  here?"  Then  he  heard  men's 
voices  calling  and  answering  in  the  woods  far  away  at  his 
left.  "  God  A' mighty,  she's  lost  I"  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  quickly  formulated  the  sounds  he  heard  and  the  signs 
he  saw.  "  That  was  her  'at  I  hearn  !  What  a  dum'd 
fool  I  be  !"  He  dropped  his  bee- box,  marking  the  spot 
with  a  glance,  and  sped  back  into  the  heart  of  the  forest  so 
swiftly  that  the  inquisitive  chickadees  which  had  gathered 
about  him  knew  not  what  way  he  had  gone.  He  spent  no 
time  in  looking  for  traces  of  the  child's  passage  here,  but 
made  his  way  as  rapidly  as  impossible  to  the  place  which 
the  cry  had  seemed  to  come  from,  listening  intently  as  he 
glided  silently  along,  for  he  knew  that  if  she  had  not  sunk 
down  exhausted  with  wandering  and  fright,  she  would  be 
circling  away  after  the  manner  of  lost  persons,  from  where 
he  had  heard  her.  Moving  more  slowly  now  and  scan 
ning  every  foot  of  forest  floor  about  him,  he  at  last  saw  a 
broken-down  stalk  of  ginseng,  its  red  berries  crushed  by 
a  footstep,  and  noting  which  way  it  was  swept  and  how 


UNCLE  LISHA  S   SHOP.  107 

recently,  found  on  a  bush  beyond  it  a  thread  of  calico, 
then  a  small  shoe-print  in  the  mould,  and  farther  on  a  little 
garter  hanging  to  a  broken  branch  of  a  fallen  tree.  Ac 
cording  to  established  usage  in  such  cases,  he  should  have 
put  this  in  his  breast,  for  he  knew  that  Huldah  had  knit 
it,  but  he  only  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  saying.  "  If  she 
hain't  never  faound  it'll  be  a  sorter  comfort  tu  'em  tu  see 
this — but  I'm  a-goin'  tu  find  her — I  got  tu  !"  He  was 
assured  of  her  course  now,  and  thought  she  could  not  be 
far  off,  but  he  did  not  call,  for  he  knew  with  what  unrea 
soning  terror  even  men  are  sometimes  crazed  when  lost  in 
the  woods,  when  familiar  sounds  as  well  as  familiar  scenes 
are  strange  and  terrible.  While  for  a  moment  he  stood 
listening  he  heard  the  distant  halloos  of  the  searching 
party — then  rushing  away  from  them,  a  sudden  swish  of 
leaves  and  crash  of  undergrowth,  and  then  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  wild  little  form  scurrying  and  tumbling 
through  the  green  and  gray  haze  of  netted  shrubs  and 
saplings.  He  had  never  stalked  a  November  partridge  so 
stealthily  as  he  went  forward  now.  Not  a  twig  snapped 
under  his  foot,  nor  branch  sprung  backward  with  a  swish 
louder  than  the  beat  of  an  owl's  wing,  and  there  was  no 
sign  in  glance  or  motion  that  he  saw  as  he  passed  it,  the 
terror-stricken  little  face  that  stared  out  from  a  sprangly 
thicket  of  mountain  yew.  Assured  that  she  was  within 
reach,  he  turned  slowly  and  said  softly,  "  Why,  Sis  !  is 
this  you?  Don't  ye  know  me,  Sam  Lovel  ?  Here's 
yer  little  baskit  'at  you  dropped  daown  yunder,  but  I'm 
afeared  the  baries  is  all  spilt  \"  and  then  he  had  her  sob 
bing  and  moaning  in  his  strong  arms. 

"  This  is  the  best  day's  huntin'  ever  I  done,"  he  said, 
his  voice  shaking  with  the  great  thankfulness  of  his  heart. 


io8  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

He  called  again  and  again  to  let  the  searchers  know  that 
the  lost  child  was  lound,  but  if  they  heard  they  did  not 
heed  or  understand  his  calls. 

When  he  came  to  Stony  Brook  with  his  burden  asleep 
on  his  shoulders,  he  seated  her  on  the  bank  and  bathed 
her  hot  face  and  gave  her  grateful  draughts  from  a  dipper 
that  he  made  in  five  minutes  with  a  sheet  of  birch  bark 
folded  and  fastened  in  a  cleft  stick,  and  here  he  shouted 
lustily  again,  but  got  no  answer. 

"  Come,  Sis/'  after  listening,  stooping  and  reaching 
out  his  arms,  "  we  must  be  a-moggin'  I" 

"  I  be  awful  heavy,  Sam  well,  but  I  can't  step  a  step," 
she  said  apologetically,  as  he  took  her  up.  "  Oh,  how 
good  you  be  !'' 

Sam's  long  shadow  had  ceased  following  him,  and  was 
blurred  out  in  the  twilight  when  he  crossed  the  door-yard 
chips  that  his  feet  had  not  trodden  since  that  Thanksgiving 
Day.  Polly  was  asleep  again  in  his  arms  when  he  entered 
the  open  door  of  the  kitchen  which  bore  a  funereal  air, 
with  a  dozen  neighboring  women  sitting  against  its  walls 
speaking  to  each  other  in  hushed  solemn  voices,  one 
standing  beside  Mrs.  Purington,  ready  with  a  hartshorn- 
bottle  when  she  should  take  her  apron  from  her  face.  The 
poor  woman  was  reaching  out  blindly  with  one  hand  for 
the  comforting  salts  when  Sam,  unseen  by  any  till  now, 
set  Polly  in  her  lap,  and  then  casting  a  longing  look  along 
the  line  of  gaping,  speechless  women,  he  disappeared  be 
fore  the  feminine  chorus  of  "  Ohs  !"  and  "  Mys  !"  and 
little  shrieks  had  swelled  to  its  height. 

Huldah  was  out  in  the  back  yard  trying  to  comfort  her 
self  with  listening  to  the  faint  halloos  of  the  searchers,  and 
with  watching  the  occasional  glimmer  of  their  lanterns  and 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  109 

torches,  dim  stars  of  hope  to  her  now,  when  she  heard  the 
indoor  stir,  and  hurried  in  expecting  to  find  her  mother  in 
a  fainting  fit.  But  there  was  her  little  sister  with  her 
mother  crying  over  her  and  scolding  her  in  the  same 
breath,  and  all  the  other  women  letting  out  their  pent-up 
speech  in  a  hail  storm  of  words,  wherewith  fell  a  shower  of 
tears.  When  she  had  hugged  Polly  and  kissed  her,  and 
sprinkled  her  with  the  first  tears  she  had  shed  that  day, 
she  asked,  '!  Who  fetched  her  ?"  and  out  of  the  confusion 
got  this  answer  :  "  Sam  Lovel,  an'  the  great  good-for- 
nothin'  cleared  right  aout  an'  never  said  one  word  !" 

He  could  not  have  gone  far.  "  Sam  well  !  Samwell 
Lovel  !"  she  called  softly,  running  out  toward  the  road. 

"  Was  you  a-callin'  me,  Huldy  ?"  a  low  voice  answered 
out  of  the  dusk. 

;'  Won't  ye  come  an'  blow  the  horn  tu  call  'em  hum, 
Samwell  ?  The'  can't  none  on  'em  in  there  blow  nothin'  — 
O  Sam/" 

The  tall  form  of  her  lover  came  out  of  the  gloom,  and 
the  big  sister  was  in  the  strong  arms  that  had  just  brought 
home  the  little  sister. 

The  search  of  the  rescue  party  was  prolonged  a  little  be 
fore  Sam's  blasts  on  the  conch-shell  were  tossed  far  and 
wide  from  echoing  mountain  to  echoing  hill  to  call  them 
home. 

"  Sam,"  said  Huldah,  half  an  hour  later,  "  you  hain't 
never  tol'  me  whether  no  you  got  that  'ere  fox  ?" 

"  I  hain't  never  hed  no  chance  !"   he  answered. 


XII. 

IN  THE   SHOP   AGAIN. 

AT  the  next  gathering  in  Lisha's  shop,  Antoine  was 
present,  and  when  the  old  cobbler  became  aware  of  him, 
he  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome,  for  though  he  was  always 
cracking  rough  jokes  upon  the  Frenchman,  he  had  a  real 
liking  for  him  for  his  good  nature  and  the  kindness  he 
had.  shown  at  the  time  of  the  memorable  bear-fight. 

"Hello,  Ann  Twine!  Buzzhoo  musheer !  Cum- 
massy  vau  !  How  dy  do  ?  Glad  t'  see  ye  agin.  Oh, 
you've  missed  it  't  ye  hain't  ben  here  t'  aour  meetin's  ! 
Sech  stories  as  the  boys  has  tole,  an'  Solon  Briggs  has  tole 
us  lots  o'  things  't  we  didn't  know — nor  he  nuther." 

"  Wai  naow,  One'  Lasha,"  asked  Antoine  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  edged  onto  the  corner  of  the  shoe-bench, 
"  w'at  kan  o'  langwizh  dat  was,  M'sieu  Brigg  he  spik  it, 
hein  ?  'F  dat  was  Anglish  Ah  can't  nevah  larn  'em.  He 
broke  ma  jaw  off.  Guess  he  Sous  'Merican,  don't  it  ?" 

"  Nev'  mind,  Ann  Twine,  you  c'n  onderstand  it  jes' 
's  well 's  any 'on  us — 'n  jes'  's  well  's  he  ken,  I  guess.  It 
don't  hurt  us  none,  'n'  it  does  him  lots  o'  good  to  let  off 
them  'ere  booktionary  words.  Wai,  Ann  Twine,  it's  your 
turn  naow.  You  got  to  tell  a  story  er  sing  a  song.  Le's 
hev  Pappy  no,  come.  '  Pappee  no  sa  bum  pay-raow. '  ' 
Lisha  sang  with  a  roaring  voice  the  first  line  of  that  once 
popular  Canadian  revolutionary  song.  "  Tune  'er  up  !" 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  in 

"  Bah  Gosh,  One'  Lasha,"  Antoine  said  with  a  sorrow 
ful  voice  and  face,  ' '  Ah  can'  sing,  nor  tell  storee,  Ah  feel 
so  bad  !" 

' '  What' s  the  motter,  man  ?  Ye  inyuns  froze,  er  ter- 
backer  gin  aout  ?" 

"  No,  sah,  One'  Lasha,  Ah  got  plenty  onion,  plenty 
tabac,  plenty,  plenty.  But  Ah  have  sush  bad  dream  las' 
naght  !  Oh,  Ah  feel  so  sorry,  me  !" 

"  Tell  it,  Ann  Twine,  tell  it,"  Lisha  shouted,  and  all 
the  others  joined  in  the  request  or  demand. 

"Ah  don'  lak  tole  it,  mek  you  all  feel  so  bad  jes' 
lak  me,  Ah  fred.  Wai,  don'  you  cry.  Las'  naght  w'en 
Ah  go  bed  Ah' 11  freegit  pray.  W'en  Ah' 11  git  on  bed 
Ah' 11  link  ov  it.  Den  fus'  ting  Ah' 11  say  Ah' 11  shet  ma 
heye,  den  Ah' 11  beegin.  As'  de  bon  Dieu  mek  me  mo' 
better  as  Ah' 11  was — ef  he  can — an'  tek  care  hole  hwoman 
an'  all  the  chillens,  'n'  mek  it  heat  not  quat  so  much 
meat,  an  more  patac  *  and  zhonnerkek  dat  was  cheap. 
Den  Ah' 11  go  sleep.  Bambye  Ah' 11  dream  Ah' 11  go  to 
1'enfer,  what  you  call  it,  hell  ?" 

"  Guess  't  was  'baout  mornin'  when  you  dremp  that 
dream,  Ann  Twine.  Mornin'  dreams  comes  true,  they 
say,"  Lisha  put  in. 

"  W'en  Ah' 11  gat  dah,"  continued  Antoine,  only  notic 
ing  the  interruption  by  a  shrug  and  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
"  de  Dev'  he  come  as'  me  what  so  good  man  Ah' 11  be 
come  dah  faw  ?  Ah' 11  say  Ah' 11  honly  come  faw  fun,  see 
what  goin's  on,  me.  Den  he  say,  '  Se'  dawn,  se'  dawn, 
M'sieu  Bissette,  mek  it  youse'f  to  home.'  So  Ah' 11  sit 
in  ver'  warm  place  an'  look  all  'raoun'.  Bambye  one 


*  Canuck  for  potatoes. 


H2  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

hole  man  come,  he  don't  got  any  clo's  on  it,  honly  jes 
shoe  mek  it  tool  ond'  hees  arm.  Dev'  he  say,  '  What  you 
want  it  ? '  Hole  man  say,  '  Dey  a'nt  have  it  me  on  tud- 
der  place,  so  Ah' 11  come  heear,  see  'f  Ah' 11  can  git  it  javvb 
mek  it  you  some  boot.'  Dev'  he  stick  it  aout  bose  hees 
foots,  one  of  it  lak  man's,  one  of  it  lak  caow's,  den  he 
say,  '  You  can  mezzhy  only  but  one  of  it  for  mek  bose 
boot ;  tek  it  you  choose.'  Hole  man  he  say,  '  Guess 
Ah' 11  tek  it  de  bes'  foot/  so  he  mezzhy  de  man  foot  an' 
go  work  raght  off.  Pooty  soon  rsght  off,  bambye,  he  have  it 
de  boot  all  do,  an'  Dev'  he  try  it  on,  an',  bah  Gosh,  de 
boot  fit  de  caow  foot  bes',  an'  he  won't  go  on  tudder  one 
't  all,  no,  sah  !  Den  Dev'  he  mad,  an'  keek  dat  poo' 
hole  man  aou'  door  in  col'  ;  an'  Ah' 11  feel  so  sorree  for  it 
Ah' 11  run  raght  back  here  an'  git  it  some  clo's,  an'  tus' 
one  Ah' 11  git  hole  of  it  was  One'  Lasha  clo's,  an'  bah 
Gosh  !  you  b'lieve  it  me,  dat  clo's  fit  dat  hole  man  jes'  if 
dey  been  mek  it  for  him,  yes,  sah  !" 

The  laugh  which  the  relation  of  this  dream  aroused  was 
made  louder  by  Lisha's  roaring  "  haw,  haw,  ho,"  at  the 
end  of  which  he  said,  glowering  at  the  narrator  through 
his  spectacles,  "  You  dremp  that  wide  awake  in  the  day 
time,  Ann  Twine.  You  ben  studyin'  on  it  up  ever  sen' 
you  was  here  ?" 

"  No,  sah,  One'  Lasha,  Ah' 11  dream  dat  in  a  mawnin'  ; 
an'  he  come  true,  you  say?  Wha'  you  s'pose  dat  hole 
man  go  ?  Dey  won't  have  it  in  de  good  place,  dey  won't 
have  it  in  de  bad  place — wha'  you  s'pose  he  goin'  go, 
hein  ?" 

"  Guess  he'll  hafter  go  t'  the  'Hio,"  Lisha  answered, 
with  a  laugh  that  ended  in  a  sigh  ;  "  to  the  'Hio,  where 
his  on'y  chick  an'  child  is.  Canucks,"  he  continued, 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  113 

"  don't  never  die,  's  fur's  heard  on,  'ceptin'  the  one  'at  I 
spoke  on.  When  they  git  old  'nough  to  die  they  go  to 
Colchester  Pint.  Forty,  fifty  years  1'om  naow  you'll  go 
there,  Ann  Twine." 

"  Wai,  da't  pooty  good  place  to  feesh,  don't  it  ?  Ah' 11 
rudder  go  dah  as  come  dead." 

"  Fish  !  Yes  ;  fish  'n'  inyuns  'n'  terbacker  's  baout 
all  a  Canuck  keers  for.  Ann  Twine,  you're  the  furderest 
Canuck  f'om  where  ye  c'n  ketch  bull-paouts  an'  eels  't  I 
ever  see.  Give  'em  them  an'  inyuns  an'  terbacker,  an' 
an  ole  hoss,  'n'  a  wuthless  dog,  'n'  they're  happy." 

"You  call  it  ma  dog  don't  good  for  something,  One' 
Lasha  ?  You  tole  him  dat  he  bit  you,  den  he  show  he 
good.  He  fus'  rate  dog,  sah.  He  lay  in  haouse  all  a 
time  honly  w'en  he  barkin'  at  folks  go  'long  on  road,  'n' 
he  jes'  fat  as  burrer." 

"  Good  qualities,  all  on  'em,"  said  Lisha,  "  p'tic'ly  in 
a  Canuck  dog,  bein'  as  fat 's  butter." 

"  Those  'ere  French,"  Solon  Briggs  remarked  to  Pela- 
tiah,  who  sat  beside  him,  "  is  a  joe-vial  an'  a  fry-volous 
race." 

"  Yus,"  said  Pelatiah,  sadly  regarding  the  palms  of  his 
mittens,  much  soiled  with  handling  cord-wood  since  sled 
ding  had  come,  "  I  s'pose  they  be  pooty  smart  to  run." 

Solon,  disgusted  with  his  unappreciative  listener,  raised 
his  voice  and  addressed  the  Frenchman.  ' '  Antwine, 
didn't  your  antsisters  come  from  France  ?" 

"  No,  M'sieu  Brigg,  ma  aunt  seesters  an'  brudder,  too, 
all  bawn  in  Canada.  Ma  mudder  one  of  it,  seester  to  ma 
aunt,  prob'ly." 

"  You  misconstrowed  my  inquirement,  Antwine,"  said 
Solon.  "  I  meant  to  ast  you,  wa'n't  their  prosperity  'at 


H4  UNCLE   LTSHA'S   SHOP, 

was  horned  before  'em  natyves  of  France — reg'lar  polly 
voo  Franceys,  so  tu  speak  ?" 

"  Ah  do'  know — yas,  Ah  guess  so,  Ah  guess  yes,"  An- 
toine  replied  at  random,  having  no  idea  of  Solon's  mean 
ing. 

"  Shah  !  Fur's  any  conjoogle  satisfactualness  is  con- 
sarned,  if  a  man  hain't  a  lingoist  he  might  's  well  talk  to 
a  sawmill  as  one  o'  these  furrin  Canucks,"  said  Solon,  and 
added,  "  I  b'lieve  I'll  take  my  department  an'  go  hum." 

"  Ah  do'  know  'f  Ah  got  it  raght,  zhontemans,"  said 
Antoine,  as  the  wooden  latch  clattered  behind  the  depart 
ing  wise  man,  "  but  Ah  tink  wat  you  call  Solum  in 
Anglish  was  dam  hole  foolish,  an't  it?"  There  was  not 
a  dissenting  voice,  but  Lisha  said  apologetically,  "  Oh, 
wal,  Solon  means  well  !" 

"  I'll  be  darned  if  I  know  what  he  does  mean,"  Sam 
Lovel  said. 

"  Wal,"  said  Lisha,  "  I  s'pose  he  's  a  well-read  man, 
an'  — ' ' 

"  Dum  the  wett  red  men  !"  Sam  broke  in,  "I  wish 
't  they  was  all  sick  'n'  dead,  consarn  'em  !  See  haow 
they're  cuttin'  up  aout  West  'n'  in  Floridy  !" 

"  Oh,  wall,"  Lisha  continued,  "  we're  well  red  o'  him 
an'  them,  so  le's  don't  bother  !" 

"  I  don't  keer  what  you  say  'baout  red  men,  ef  I  was 
a  Ninjun  as  I  be  a  white  man,"  cried  Pelatiah,  rising  and 
smacking  his  mittens  together,  "  while  't  there  was  a  pale 
face  on  the  face  of  the  U-nited  States  of  Ameriky,  I 
wouldn't  never  lay  daown  my  bow-arrers,  my  tommy- 
hock,  an'  my  wampum  :  never,  no,  never  !" 

"  Guess  ye'd  hevlu  lay  daown  yer  wampum  'f  I  mended 
yer  boots,  Peltier,"  said  Lisha,  and  Sam  Lovel  advised 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOT.  115 

the  budding    orator   to  "  save    that  'ere    fur  the  spellin' 
school  ex'cises  next  week." 

There  was  not  much  further  discourse,  for  Lisha  was 
yawning,  and  his  guests  took  the  hint,  as  broad  as  his  jaws 
could  compass,  and  went  their  ways  homeward,  Antoine 
singing  "  Papineau"  at  the  top  of  his  sonorous  voice, 
and  all  joining  in  the  ringing  refrain,  "  Hurrah,  pour 
Papineau  !"  till  even  the  owls  were  stirred  Irom  their 
solemn  propriety,  and  sent  back  responsive  hoots  from 
their  gloomy  fastnesses  among  the  steeps  of  Hogs'  Back 
Mountain. 


XIII. 

THE   FOX    HUNT. 

A  SOFT  snow  having  fallen,  not  too  deep  for  the  com 
fortable  travelling  of  those  so  used  to  such  footing  as  are 
the  hill  folks  of  Northern  New  England,  almost  all  of 
Lisha's  friends  who  were  wont  to  gather  in  his  shop  had 
gone  fox-hunting. 

Many  times  that  day  Lisha  had  stood  in  the  doorway  to 
listen  to  the  voices  of  the  hounds,  now  wafted  softer  to  his 
cars  from  the  snow  muffled  woods  than  in  the  brighter 
days  of  October,  when  each  hound's  note  was  answered  by 
a  dozen  echoes,  all  so  sharp  and  clear  that  one  could  hardly 
tell  the  real  voice  from  the  counterfeit.  And  once  when 
the  music  tended  toward  a  runway  two  furlongs  down  the 
road,  where  the  points  of  two  ledges  flanked  the  highway 
on  either  side,  the  old  man  had  taken  down  his  long  gun 
and  bare-headed,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  with  his  apron 
flopping  about  his  legs,  waddled  like  a  hurried  duck  half 
way  to  the  crossing-place.  But  the  fox  then  changed  his 
course  and  drew  the  clamor  tapering  into  silence  beyond 
the  crest  of  a  great  ridge,  and  Lisha,  after  some  shivering 
waiting  had  cooled  his  ardor,  went  back  to  his  bench. 
He  was  impatient  for  evening  to  come  that  he  might  hear 
how  it  had  fared  with  the  hunters,  but  they  were  too  leg- 
weary  that  night  to  leave  their  own  firesides,  even  for  the 
pleasure  of  "swapping  lies"  and  comparing  notes  con- 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  117 

cerning  the  day's  events.  The  next  night,  however, 
brought  most  of  them  to  the  accustomed  meeting  place, 
ready  to  talk  or  listen.  Lisha  missed  the  blonde-bearded 
face  and  tall,  gaunt  form  of  Sam  Lovel,  the  mightiest 
hunter  of  them  all. 

"  Where's  Samwill  ?"  he  roared,  as  if  he  was  hailing  the 
mountains.  "Them  'ere  long  laigs  o'  his' n  hain't  gin 
aout,  hev  they  ?" 

"I  sh'd  think  not,"  Joe  Hill  answered;  "he  went 
trampoosin'  off  on  't  the  North  Hill  airly  this  mornin' 
arter  a  fox.  We  hearn  the  ol'  dawg  a  tootin'  on  it  tu  him 
yit  as  we  come  along.  'F  Sam  c'n  git  him  off  he  '11  be 
comin'  'long  this  way  hum  tu  rights." 

"  What  a  darned  critter  !"  said  Lisha,  his  tone  express 
ing  more  approval  than  his  words,  "  up  an'  at  it,  every 
day  an'  all  day  !" 

"  Sam  well,"  said  Solon  Briggs,  "  is  a  reg'lar  Ramrod, 
so  tu  speak;  a  mighty  hunter  afore  the  Lord.  He'll 
foller  a  fox  from  Daniel  to  Bashaby  afore  he  '11  delinquish 
the  purshoot,  or  less  the  nocturnity  of  night  comes  on  tu 
him,  which  that  periodical  of  natur  has  now  arriven  an' 
come,  an'  therefore  he  will  most  proberble  du  likewise  soon/ ' 

The  sounds  of  heavy  boots  being  rid  of  snow  by  stamp 
ing  and  scraping  on  the  doorstep  and  the  impatient  whine 
of  a  dog  were  heard,  and  the  predictions  of  Joe  and  the 
wise  Solon  were  speedily  fulfilled  by  the  entrance  of  Sam 
and  his  gaunt,  sad-faced  hound,  with  a  whiff  of  chill  outer 
air,  as  if  the  hunter  had  brought  down  a  bagful  of  the 
North  Hill's  breezy  atmosphere  to  sweeten  the  shop  with. 
As  Lisha  shouted  his  welcome  the  eyes  of  every  one  sought 
first  the  capacious  pockets  of  Sam's  frock,  and  saw  hang 
ing  out  of  one  the  fluffy  brush  of  a  fine  fox. 


n8  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

"  Wai,  Sam,  ye  got  him,  hey  ?" 

"  Got  one  on  'em,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  implied  no 
great  satisfaction  with  his  luck.  "  Started  two  more,  but 
one  on  'em  holed  in  half  an  hour,  an'  t'other  one  dodged 
me  till  it  got  so  dark  I  couldn't  see  tu  shoot,  'n'  so  I 
called  ol'  Drive  off  an'  come  along." 

Drive,  who  had  stretched  his  weary  length  by  the  stove, 
raised  his  head  and  cast  a  sorrowful  look  on  his  master. 

"  Wai,  dawg,  ye  didn't  wanter  hunt  all  night  for  nothin', 
did  ye?"  Sam  asked,  and  Drive,  sighing,  laid  his  head 
again  on  its  pillow  of  leather  scraps,  and  wagged  a  few 
feeble  taps  on  the  floor,  so  signifying  that  he  did  not  quite 
understand  it,  but  concluded  it  was  all  light. 

"  Hain't  hed  amou'iul  t'  eat  sen  mornin',  hev  ye,  Sam- 
will?"  Lisha  asked,  and  answered,  "Course  ye  hain't! 
Mother  !"  roaring  to  his  wife  as  if  she  had  been  in  the 
next  township  instead  of  the  next  room,  and  then,  as  Aunt 
Jerusha  opened  the  door,  "  can't  ye  give  Samwill  a  bite?" 

"  No,  don't  gi'  me  a  bite,  Aunt  Jerushy  ;  I'd  ruther 
you'd  gim  me  a  kiss,"  cried  the  gallant  hunter. 

"I  sha'n't  du  nary  one,  Samwill,"  said  Aunt  Jerusha, 
"I  sh'd  hev  Huldy  Purin't'n  arter  me,  but  I'll  give  ye 
some  rye  'n'  Injin  bread  an'  col'  pork  'n'  beans." 

"  An'  give  Drive  that  'ere  hasty  puddin',"  said  Lisha, 
as  Sam  and  the  hound  followed  Aunt  Jerusha  into  the 
kitchen.  Then  Lisha  asked,  "  Wai,  boys,  haow  d'd  ye 
make  it  a-huntin'  yist'd'y.  Any  on  ye  kill  any  thin'  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Joe  Hill  answered,  "  Sam  killed  a  fox"  ["  Of 
course,"  said  Lisha,  in  parenthesis],  "  an'  the'  was  one  or 
two  on  us  got  shots  at  a  fox. 

"Which  Jozeff  P.  Hill  was  one,"  said  Solon  Briggs, 
"  a-firin'  of  his  gun  one  several  time  at  two  identickle 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  119 

foxes  twicte,  which  opponent  du  declare  the  heretobefore- 
said  Jozeff  P.  did  not  tu  no  intense  an'  puppuses  tech  ary 
one  on  'em  \" 

"  An'  Solon  Briggs  was  another/'  retorted  Joe. 

"  Nor  du  I  deny  the  acquisition  intire,  though  my  gun 
discharged  an'  went  off  a-pintin'  tu  a  opposyte  direction 
tu  what  the  fox  was  at  them  moments  of  time  a  occupyin' 
of,  so  it  can't  be  said  with  strict  incoherence  tu  the  truth, 
that  I  shot  at  him." 

"  Haow  did  that  happen  ?"   Lisha  asked. 

"  Wai,  the  circumstances  was  these  an'  happened  thus  : 
I  was  a-settin'  on  a  lawg  a-meditatin'  on  the  mutualability 
of  the  human  life  of  mankind,  pa'tic'ly  in  fox-huntin',  for 
I  hed  n't  heard  a  haoun'  in  an  hour,  when  my  intention 
was  distracted  by  a  leetle  noise  behind  me,  an'  turnin'  my 
head,  there  stood  a  gre't  big  fox  not  more  'n  three  rod  off, 
jes  's  if  he  was  an  appargotion  that  had  riz  aout  of  the 
baowels  of  the  airth,  which  I  was  flustrated  tu  the  extent 
of  my  gun  a  goin'  off  an'  dischargin'  with  the  butt  a-pint 
in'  at  the  anymil  fur  cluster  'an  what  the  muzzle  was.  It 
was  one  of  the  accidentalist  accidents  that  ever  happened 
to  my  exper'  ence,  for  I  hed  fust-rate  sight  on  that  fox  if 
my  gun  had  only  ben  pinted  right." 

"  An'  what  hev  you  got  tu  say  fur  yerself,  Jozeff  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  d'  know  nothin'  what  the  matter  was  ailded 
things/'  Joe  replied,  looking  up  at  the  low  ceiling  as  if  he 
expected  some  solution  of  the  cause  of  his  unaccountable 
misses  to  come  from  above.  "  I  guess  the  ol'  gun  hain't 
good  for  nothin'  —  or  I  d'  know  but  the  gun  's  good 
'nough,  but  the  paowder  ;  I  don't  b'lieve  the  paowder  's 
wuth  a  darn  !  But  mebby  't  wa'n't  the  paowder— guess 
like  's  not  the  shot  wa'n't  big  'nough,  or  I  spilt  some 


120  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

on  'em  a-loadin'  in  a  hurry,  or  suthin'    or  nuther — I  d' 
know." 

'  You're  sartain  't  wa'n't  no  fault  o'  your  shootin', 
hain't  ye,  Jozeff  ?  You  shot  stret 'nough  :  we  allus  du, 
all  on  us,"  said  Lisha,  his  eyes  twinkling  like  the  gleam  of 
his  awl  in  the  candle-light. 

"  Wai,  I  never  hed  no  better  sight  on  nothin'  in  my  life 
'n  I  did  on  both  them  'ere  foxes — " 

"  Not  on  that  'ere  aowl  ?"   Lisha  interrupted. 

"  Humph  !  We  hain't  talkin'  'baout  aowls  !  Come 
to  think  on  't,  I  guess  they  was  tew  fur  off." 

"  Guess  they  be  naow,"  from  Lisha. 

"  Wai,  anyhaow,  I  made  the  fur  fly  onct  1" 

"  No  daoubt  on  't,  no  daoubt  on  't,  both  times,  an' 
jist  as  fas'  as  four  scairt  legs  could  make  it  fly  !  Oh,  good 
airth  an'  seas  !  I  wish  't  I'd  got  a  shot  !  I'd  ha'  showed 
ye  !  When  my  old  connon  gits  pinted  at  'em,  it  fetches 
'em,  I  tell  ye  !" 

"  Haow  clus  does  it  fetch  'em  naow,  Uncle  Lisha?" 
asked  he  who  never  spoke  but  to  propound  some  great 
question. 

"  So  clus  tu,"  Lisha  answered  impressively,  "  that  gen- 
'ally  I  can. git  their  skins  off  on  'em.  Peltier,"  he  con 
tinued,  turning  his  glasses  on  the  young  fellow,  "you 
hain't  ben  heard  from  jit." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  cal'late  tu  shoot  nothin',  only  went  fer 
the  fun  on  't  !  Didn't  see  nothin'  nor  git  nothin',  only  a 
pocketful  o'  gum.  Hassome  ?"  he  asked,  passing  about 
his  big  palm  full  of  spruce  gum,  like  a  rudely  moulded  tray 
of  clay  filled  with  bits  of  rough  amber.  Each  one  took  a 
piece.  The  smokers  laid  aside  their  pipes,  the  tobacco- 
chewers  resigned  their  quids,  and  all  went  into  a  com- 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP,  121 

mittee  of  the  whole  to  ruminate  on  the  resin  of  the 
spruce. 

After  all  the  reports  were  in  it  was  found  that  none  had 
shot  at  a  fox  but  Sam,  Joe,  and  Solon,  and  of  these  with 
any  success  only  the  first  named,  who,  having  now 
strengthened  his  interior  with  a  goodly  lining  of  Aunt 
Jerusha's  pork  and  beans  and  brown  bread,  returned  to 
the  shop.  Declining  to  exercise  his  jaw  on  an  offered 
portion  of  Pelatiah's  treat,  he  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  got  himself  into  a  restful  position  on  a  roll  of  sole- 
leather.  "  Wai,"  he  said,  after  getting  his  pipe  in  full 
blast,  "  I  seen  suthin'  on  the  North  Hill  'at's  an  oncom- 
mon  sight  now-er-days. " 

' '  What  was  that  ?' '  one  asked,  and  others  guessed  ' '  a 
painter,"  "  a  wolf,"  "  a  woolyneeg,"  or  the  tracks  of  the 
animals  named. 

' '  Was  it  the  footprints  of  some  avarocious  annymill,  or 
the  annymill  hisself  ?"  Solon  Briggs  inquired. 

"  Nary  one,"  said  Sam,  and  added  after  a  few  deliber 
ate  puffs,  during  which  the  curiosity  of  his  auditors  grew 
almost  insupportable,  "  a  deer  track." 

"Good  airth  an'  seas!  You  don't  say  so,  Sam  will  ? 
I  hain't  seen  nor  hearn  tell  o'  one  a-bein'  raound  in  five, 
I  d'  know  but  ten,  year.  Did  ye  foller  it,  Sam  will  ?  It's 
a  tol'able  good  snow  fur  still-huntin'." 

"Foller  it?  No!"  Sam  answered  emphatically. 
"  What  would  I  foller  it  for  ?  I  wouldn't  shoot  a  deer  on 
these  'ere  hills  'f  I  had  a  dozen  chances  at  him  !" 

"  I  swan  I  would,"  said  Pelatiah. 

"  Yas,"  said  Sam,  with  contemptuous  wrath,  "you 
would,  I  ha'  no  daoubt  on't,  an'  so  would  three  quarters 
on  'em  shoot  the  las'  deer  'f  he  come  to  their  stacks  an'  eat 


122  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

along  with  their  cattle,  jes'  as  Joel  Bartlett  did,  consarn 
his  gizzard  !  I  wish  't  was  State's  prison  Hi  kill  a  deer  any 
time  o'  year,  an'  hed  ben  twenty  year  ago.  Then  we 
might  hev  some  deer  in  these  'ere  woods,  where  the' 
hain't  one  naow  tu  ten  thousand  acres,  'n'  where  forty 
year  ago  the'  was  hundreds  on  'em,  'n'  might  jes'  as  well 
be  naow,  if  't  wan't  fer  the  dum'd  hogs  an'  fools.  I 
knowed  critters  'at  went  on  tew  legs  an'  called  'emselves 
men,  'at  when  I  was  a  boy  useter  go  aout  in  Febwary  an* 
March  an*  murder  the  poor  creeturs  in  their  yards  with 
clubs,  twenty  on  'em  in  a  day,  when  they  wa'n't  wuth 
skinnin'  fur  their  skins,  say  nothin'  baout  the  meat,  which 
the'  wa'n't  ''nough  on  tew  carcasses  tu  bait  a  saple  trap. 
An'  some  o'  them  things  is  a-livin'  yit,  an'  would  du  the 
same  again  if  they  hed  the  chance.  If  they  was  gone  an' 
a  wolf  left  in  the  place  of  each  one  on  'em,  the  airth  would 
be  better  off,  a  darned  sight.  Cuss  'em,  they  're  wus  'n 
In j ins  !" 

The  stillness  that  followed  this  outburst  of  the  hunter's 
righteous  indignation  was  broken  by  Solon's  rasping  pre 
liminary  "  Ahem  !  That  'ere  last  remark  o'  yourn  is  an 
on-dutible  fact.  The  abregoines  would  not  perforate  sech 
an  act,  because  in  so  a-duin'  they  would  ampitate  their 
own  noses  off,  deer  a-bein'  their  gret  mainstayance,  both 
intarnally  an'  out-tarnally — that  is  to  say,  both  food  an' 
remnants. ' ' 

'  *  Wai, ' '  said  Lisha,  as  he  soused  a  tap  in  his  tub, 
"  the'  can't  nob'dy  say  't  ever  I  crusted  deer,  but  the' 
was  'nough  on  'em  't  did,  twenty,  thirty  year  ago,  an* 
mis' able  murderin'  business  it  was,  tew.  The'  was  one 
man,  though,"  he  continued,  after  some  vigorous  pound- 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  123 

ing  of  the  tap  on  his  lapstone,  "  'at  got  cured  o'  crustin' 
for  his  lifetime,  which  it  shortened  it,  tew." 

"  It  ort  t'  been  shortened  afore  ever  he  wenta-crustin'," 
said  the  relentless  Sam.  "  Wai,  haow  was  't,  Uncle 
Lisha  ?' ' 

"  Wai,"  said  Lisha,  taking  the  last  peg  from  between 
his  lips  and  driving  it  home,  "  I  guess  it's  gittin'  ruther 
late  t'  begin  a  story  t' night,  hain't  it?  Baout  what  time 
's  it  got  tu  be,  anyway?  Peltier,  you  jes'  go  t'  the 
kitchen  door  'n'  ast  Jerushy,  won't  ye  ?" 

"Hoi'  on;  I've  got  my  crow  monitor,"  said  Solon, 
tugging  at  a  leathern  thong  that  hung  from  his  fob,  and 
presently  dragging  forth  what  looked  like  a  goodly  sized 
copper  porringer,  he  consulted  it  for  a  minute  and  pro 
claimed  the  hour  to  be  "  agoin'  on  tu  nine  o'clock." 

"  I  want  er  know  !  Wai,  bein'  it's  so  late,  'n'  some 
on  ye  's  got  quite  a  piece  tu  go,  I  guess  I  won't  tell  baout 
it  t' night.  Nex'  time  ye  come  I  will  'f  ye  '11  put  me  in 
mind  on  't." 

"  Prawberbly,  in  consequent  of  the  demoteness  of  the 
inhabitations  of  some  here  and  present,  and  the  a-proach- 
ness  of  the  hour  for  expirin'  to  bed,  it  would  be  more 
judiciouser  to  prefer  the  narrowation  of  Uncle  Lisha' s  story 
ontil  another  of  aour  conjovial  gatherin's" — which  sug 
gestion  of  Solon's  all  fell  in  with,  and  Sam  Lovel,  taking 
his  gun  from  the  comer  and  whistling  up  his  chase-weary 
hound,  all  departed,  leaving  Lisha  to  snuff  out  the  shop 
candle  and  retire  to  the  kitchen,  where,  smoking  the  last 
pipe  of  the  evening  with  his  stockinged  feet  toasting  on 
the  stove  hearth,  the  purring  of  the  cat,  the  drowsy  song 
of  the  tea-kettle,  and  Aunt  Jerusha's  monotonous  counting 


124  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

of  the  stitches  as  she  narrowed  the  thumb  of  a  striped  mit 
ten,  "  one  —  tew  —  three,  narrer  ;  one  — •  tew  — three, 
narrer,"  soon  set  him  to  nodding. 

"Why,  father,"  said  the  good  dame,  casting  a  side 
glance  at  him  from  her  knitting  when  his  pipe  dropped 
from  his  mouth,  "  why  don't  ye  go  tu  bed,  stiddy  settin' 
there  a  noddin'  like  a  hard's  grass  head  in  a  July  wind  ?" 

"I  wa'n't  a-noddin'  nuther,  'n'  hain't  a  bit  sleepy," 
he  said,  opening  his  eyes  as  wide  as  possible.  "  I  was 
on'y  medytatin'."  But  he  went  to  bed. 


XIV. 

NOAH  CHASE'S  DEER-HUNTING. 

AFTER  the  soft  snowfall  the  grip  of  winter  tightened  with 
sharper  weather,  and  it  was  a  nipping  night  when  Lisha's 
friends,  the  creaking  of  whose  coming  footsteps  he  heard 
twenty  rods  away,  again  entered  the  shop.  Each  as  he 
came  in  made  his  way  quickly  to  the  ruddy,  roaring  stove, 
and  hardly  one  failed  to  shrug  his  shoulders  with  a  shiver 
ing  "  booh  !"  rub  his  hands,  stamp  his  feet,  and  proclaim 
in  some  form  of  words  that  the  night  was  cold,  as  if  that 
was  something  which  needed  every  man's  testimony  to 
establish  as  a  fact. 

Joseph  Hill  remarked,  as  he  rubbed  his  ears,  that  "  the 
skeeters  bit. "  The  inquirer  stared  at  him,  and  asked, 
"  Bit  who  ?"  and  said  he  hadn't  "  seen  no  skeeters  sen 
September." 

Another  said,  "  Tell  ye  what,  it's  pretty  cold/'  as  if  he 
was  the  original  discoverer  of  this  condition  of  the  atmos 
phere. 

Pelatiah  asked  Sam  Lovel,  "  'S  this  col'  'nough  for 
ye,  Samwel  ?"  and  Sam  answered,  as  he  fanned  himself 
with  his  fur  cap,  "Cold  'nough?  No.  I  want  it  cold 
'nough  tu  freeze  the  blaze  of  a  match  tu  a  pipe.  I'm 
most  melted,  V  wish  't  I  could  set  top  o'  'Tater  Hill  'n 
hour  er  tew  'n'  cool  off."  Pelatiah  said,  "  Sho  !"  and 
"  guessed  he  was  a-jokinV 


126  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

Solon  Briggs's  opinion  was  that  it  was  "  congealous, 
and  that  the  muckery  would  prawberbly  condescend  to 
twenty-four  below  jehu,  I  wou'  say,  below  zeno,  afore 
mornin'."  And  Antoine,  hugging  himself,  declared  that 
it  was  "  bien  froid,"  which,  after  Canuck  fashion,  he  pro 
nounced  "  ban  fret,"  and  then  translated,  "  Col'  lak  a 
dev,  bah  gosh  ;  more  he  was  Canada,  yas,  sah."  And  so 
encouraging  one  another,  they  became  firmly  settled  in  the 
belief  that  the  night  was  indeed  a  cold  one,  and  Lisha,  as 
he  opened  the  stove  door,  using  the  corner  of  his  apron 
for  a  holder,  and  fed  the  little  demon  a  bellyful  of  white 
birch,  gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  "  if  the  wind  riz  it  would 
be  a  reg'lar  rip  snorter." 

"  And  naow,"  said  Solon,  when  Lisha  had  established 
himself  in  the  polished  leathern  seat  of  his  bench,  "  arfter 
the  preluminary  remarks  'at  you  made  at  aour  prevarious 
meetin',  it  is  confidentially  espected  'at  you  will  perceed 
to  dilate  your  narrowtyve." 

"  Yas,"    Antoine    urged,    "  you    goin'    fill    up    you 
promise,  don't  it,  One'  Lasha,  hein  ?" 

"  Wai,  boys,  'f  I  must  I  must,  I  s'pose,"  said  Lisha, 
pulling  hard  at  his  pipe  between  words,  "  but  I  hain't  no 
gret  at  tellin'  stones.  Ye  see" — after  some  silent  back 
tracking  of  memory — "  'twas  baout  Noer  Chase  ;  he  was 
the  fust  one  in  taown  't  hed  a  pleasure  waggin,  'n'  they 
uster  call  it  Noer's  Ark.  He'd  ben  sellick  man  three  fo' 
years,  'n'  sot  in  the  leegislatur'  onct — cousin  t'  Jerushy, 
tew — 'n'  orter  ben  in  better  business 'n  goin'  crustin',  but 
he  went,  'n'  more  'n  onct.  So  one  March  the'  was  the 
alfiredest  crust,  'n'  he  hedn't  nothin'  tu  du  much,  'n' 
says  he,  '  I  guess  I'll  hassome  fun/  says  he.  So  he  got 
him  a  club,  an'  put  on  his  snowshoes  an'  put  'er  fer  a 


UNCLE  LTSHA'S   SHOP.  12? 

basin  up  in  the  maountin  where  he  knowed  the'  was 
some  deer  a-yardin'.  I  know  the  ezack  spot,  an'  so  du 
you,  Samwill.  Right  up  where  the  east  branch  o'  Stunny 
Brook  heads.  He  got  Amos  Jones  tu  go  'long  with  him, 
'n'  they  got  there  an'  faound  the  deer,  twenty  on  'em  or 
more,  a-yardin'  'raound  in  the  little  spruces,  'n'  all  poorer 
'n  wood.  Wai,  they  scahtered  'em  aout  an'  went  at  'em. 
Amos  he  seen  Noer  knock  down  ten  on  '  em  and  cut  the' 
thruts,  'n'  then  hetelled 'im  for  tustop,  f  that  was  'nough. 
But  Noer  he  laughed  'n'  said  he  was  jes'  beginnin'  tu 
hassome  fun  ;  'n'  then  he  put  arter  a  doe  that  was  heavy 
with  fa'n,  'n'  as  he  run  up  'longside  on  her,  she  stumbled 
in  the  crust,  her  laigs  all  a-bleedin',  an'  rolled  up  'er  eyes 
tumble  pitiful  tow-wards  him,  an'  gin  a  beseechin'  kind 
of  a  blaat.  An'  Amos  he  hollered  aout  tu  Noer  t'  let  'er 
'lone,  but  Noer  he  on'y  laughed  'n'  said  haow  t'  he  was 
goin'  ter  kill  tew  tu  one  shot,  'n'  he  gin  'er  a  lick  on  the 
head  with  his  club  'fore  Amos  co'ld  git  tu  him." 

"  Damn  'im  !"   growled  Sam. 

"  Amos  didn't  hardly  never  cuss,  but  I  s'pose  he  ripped 
aout  then  'n'  gin  it  tu  Noer  hot  'n'  heavy,  'n'  said  he 
was  a  good  mm'  tu  sarve  'im  's  he'd  sarved  the  doe  ;  'n' 
jes'  then  he  happened  tu  see  that  Noer  was  standin'  'long 
side  o'  the  doe,  right  onderneath  an  onlucky  tree,  'n' 
then  he  said  he  knowed  suthin'  'ould  happen  tu  'im,  'n' 
tol'  'im  so.  But  Noer  on'y  laughed  at  'im,  'n'  called  'im 
a  sup'stitious  chickin-hearted  ol'  granny,  an'  took  aout 
his  knife  tu  cut  the  doe's  thrut.  Amos  couldn't  stan'  it 
tu  see.no  more  sech  murderin',  'n'  so  he  cleared  aout 
and  went  hum.  Wai,  Noer  finished  the  doe,  'n'  then 
took  arter  a-yullin'  buck  next.  The  buck  started  daown 
the  maountin,  'n'  bein'  putty  light  he  skinned  it  'long 


128  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

pulty  good  jog,  so  's  't  Noer  couldn't  ketch  up  with  'im 
's  easy  's  he  hed  with  t'other  ones.  So  Noer  'gin  to  git 
mad,  'n'  doubled  his  jumps,  'n'  went  tearin'  daown  hill 
lickerty  split,  'n'  hed  inos'  ketched  up  tu  the  deer,  when 
the  toe  of  his  snovvshoe  ketched  int'  the  limb  of  a  blowed- 
daown  tree,  an'  he  fell,  kerlummux  !  'n'  struck  his  laig 
on  another  limb  on  't  an'  broke  his  laig." 

"  Good  !"   cried  Sam. 

"His  laig  pained  him  onmassyfully,  'n'  like  'nough  he 
hurt  his  head  tew,  for  he  went  inter  a  swound,  I  s'pose," 
continued  Lisha,  after  nodding  to  Sam,  "  an'  he  lay  quite 
a  spell  'fore  he  come  tu,  'n'  'twas  mos'  night.  Fust 
thing,  he  tried  tu  git  up  ;  but  he  couldn't  make  it  aout 
till  he  got  holt  of  a-saplin'  an'  pulled  hisseif  up,  'n'  then 
he  couldn'  t  take  a  step.  An'  while  he  stood  there  a-con- 
siderin',  that  'ere  doe  appeared  right  afore  him,  lookin'  at 
him  jes'  as  she  did  when  he  run  her  daown  !  He  said, 
'  Shoo  !  '  but  she  didn't  stir  a  mite,  and  then  he  reached 
daown  an'  picked  up  his  club  an'  hove  it  at 'er,  'n'  he  said  it 
went  through  her  jes'  's  if  she'd  ben  a  puff  o'  smoke,  an' 
it  went  a-scootin'  over  the  crust  twenty  rods  daown  the  hill, 
'n'  she  never  stirred  !  He  tried  to  walk  agin,  but  he 
couldn't  step  a  step,  an'  then  he  goddaown  on  all  fours 
an'  crawled  's  well  's  he  could  tow- wards  the  clearin's,  an' 
that  ere  doe  kep'  allers  jes'  so  fur  ahead  on  him,  allers 
lookin'  at  him  jes'  as  she  did  afore  he  knocked  her  in  the 
head.  An'  when  it  begin  tu  grow  duskish  the'  was  a  wolf 
set  up  a-yowlin'  behind  him  as  he  snailed  along  a-groanin' 
an'  a-sweatin'  like  a  man  a-mowin',  an'  not  goin'  more 
'n  a  rod  in  five  minutes,  'n'  then  tew  more  wolves  jined 
in  a  yowlin'  so  clus  tu  him  't  his  toes  tickled,  'n'  when 
he  looked  over  his  shoulder  he  could  see  the  dum'd  crit- 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  129 

ters  a-shoolin'  'long  arter  him  like  black  shadders,  'n' 
every  naow  'n'  then  sittin'  up  on  their  rumps  an'  yowlin' 
for  more  tu  jine  'em.  An'  all  the  time  that  'ere  doe  kep' 
jes'  so  fur  ahead  on  him,  allers  a-lookin'  at  'im  jes'  so 
mournful.  Bimebye  arter  dark,  he  got  tu  the  clearin',  'n' 
he  couldn't  go  no  furder,  so  he  sot  his  back  agin  a  tree 
'n'  sot  there  an'  hollered  with  his  club  in  his  hand,  for 
he'd  picked  it  up  in  his  crawlin',  an'  there  he  sot,  'n' 
there  the  wolves  sot,  an'  right  betwixt  'em  stood  the  doe, 
which  the  wolves  never  took  no  more  noticte  on  her  'n' 
of  a  shadder.  Arter  awhile — seemed  's  'ough  't  was  a 
week  t'  Noer — someb'dy  hearn  the  rumpus,  wolves  a- yowl- 
in'  an'  man  a-hollerin',  an'  Aar'n  Gove  an'  Moses  Han 
son  'n'  mongst  'em  rallied  aout  an'  went  up,  an'  faound 
him  an'  fetched  'im  hum.  They  got  a  darkter  an'  sot 
his  laig,  but  he  was  sick  for  three  months,  'n'  many  a 
time,  they  said,  he  seen  that  'ere  doe  a-lookin'  in  't  the 
winder  'n'  hearn  the  wolves  a-yowlin'  raound  the  haouse, 
but  the'  could  none  o'  the  rest  on  'em  see  her  nor  hear 
the  wolves.  Bimebye  he  got  better,  an'  so  's  't  he  could 
git  aout  raound.  An'  then  his  son,  the  on'y  one  't  he 
had,  went  off  t'  the  fur  West  a-trappin'  an'  a-tradin'  fer 
furs  an'  skins,  an'  got  killed  by  Injins,  an'  then  his  oldest 
darter  run  away  with  a  wuthless,  drinkin'  goo' -for-nothin' 
creetur  ;  an'  his  other  darter  married  an  Irishmun,  an', 
wust  of  all,  so  Noer  said,  Amos  Jones  come  up  tu  see  him, 
and  said,  '  I  tol'  yer  so  !  '  Then  Noer  got  wus  an'  run 
int'  the  consumption,  'n'  arter  lingerin'  an'  lingerin',  he 
died." 

"  All  of  which,"  said  Sam  Lovel,  "  sarved  him  right, 
and,"  lifting  to  his  lips  the  broken-handled  pitcher  of  stale 
water  that  stood  on  a  shelf  in  the  corner,  seldom  replen- 


130  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

ished  but  never  quite  empty,  "  here's  a-hopesin'  that  all 
crusters  may  forever  meet  the  same  fate.  Amen  !" 

"  Haow  long,"  put  in  the  inquirer,  "  haow  long  did 
Noer  Chase  hev  the  consumption  ?" 

*'  Ten  year,"  Lisha  replied. 

"  Was  that  all  ?"   said  the  inquirer. 

"  I  don't  b'lieve,"  said  Pelatiah,  wiping  his  nose  with 
his  right-hand  mitten,  "'at  ever  I'll  crust  hunt  a  deer 's 
long  's  I  live  and  breathe." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  ye  will  nuther,"  said  Sam,  "  not  in 
these  parts,  for  ye  won't  hev  the  chance.  But  I  wanter 
tell  ye  one  thing,  Peltier,  the  nex'  wust  thing  tu  crustin' 
deer  is  snarin'  patridges  !  One  day  in  the  fall  I  was 
huntin'  up  through  yer  father's  woods,  an'  I  come  acrost 
a  leette  low  brush  fence  with  snares  sot  in  the  gaps.  I 
tore  it  all  daown,  an'  one  gret  cock  patridge  '  t  I  faound 
a-hangin'  by  the  neck  I  hove  off  int'  the  woods  for  the 
foxes  t'  eat.  You  sot  them  snares,  Peltier, 'n'  you  hadn't 
ort  t'  done  it.  Every  time  I  find  any  sech  contraption, 
I'll  spile  it,  no  matter  who  sot  it  'Xceptin'  ugly  and 
mischievous  critters  'at  won't  let  ye  hunt  'em  no  ways 
decent,  give  all  God's  creeturs  a  fair  chance.  Foller  'em 
up  an'  shoot  'em  ef  ye  can,  in  the  times  't  they'd  ort  tu 
be  shot,  but  not  no  other  times.  Not  no  nestin'  good  birds 
norbreedin'  an'  sucklin'  beasts  that  's  wutha-savin'.  Then 
when  ye  die,  'f  you've  ben  honest  an'  decent  tu  folks,  ye 
won't  hev  nothin'  tu  torment  ye.  Naow,  Peltier,  you 
remember  what  I  tell  ye,  an'  don't  ye  never  snare  no 
more  patridges,  or  less  ye  '11  hav  an  ol'  hen  patridge 
a-hantin'  on  ye  jes'  as  that  'ere  doe  did  Noer  Chase." 

"  As  true  's  I  live,  Sam  will,  I  won't  never  again." 

"  Ez  for  Noer  Chase,  which  I  remember  him  well  as  a 


UNCLE   L/SHA'S  SHOP.  131 

consumptuous  invalidge  in  the  days  of  my  youthful  indo- 
lescense, "  Solon  Briggs  remarked,  "it  is  my  o-pinion 
that  his  fate  was  a  just  contribution  for  his  predatorious 
onrightiousness." 

"  Wai,  sah,"  said  Antoine,  who  had  long  been  waiting 
to  put  in  a  word,  '*  dem  Anglish  officy  in  Canada  when  he 
go  huntin'  'longwid  Injin  keel  moose  mos'  same  like 
Noel  ;  fin'  'em  in  yard,  run  it  daown,  shoot  it,  carree  off 
horn,  litly  bit  meat,  skin,  maybe,  leave  it  rest  of  it  for 
wolf.  Show  horn,  '  Hoorah  !  Ah  keel  it  moose  !  ' 
Ah  come  porty  near  keel  one  of  dat  officy  tarn  Papineau 
war ;  me  wish  Ah  have,  bah  gosh  !" 

"  I've  heard  on  it,  Ann  Twine.  He  chased  ye  an' 
you  run,  an'  he  follored  till  he  putty  nigh  broke  his  wind. 
He  run  a  narrer  chance  of  his  life,  sartin. ' ' 

"  Ah,  One'  Lasha,  who  tole  it  you  dat  lies,  hein  ?" 

"  I  dunno  's  I  know,  Uncle  Lisher  ;  seems  'ogh  I  did 
tew,  but  guess  't  I  don't,"  said  Joseph  Hill,  "  jes'  ezackly 
what  an  '  onlucky  tree  '  is.  Dunno  but  I  did  know  onct, 
but  I've  kinder  forgot." 

"  Wai,"  said  Lisha,  "  what  some  calls  an  onlucky  tree, 
an'  thinks  is,  is  a  sca'se  kind  of  a  tree,  half  way  'twixt  a 
cat  spruce  an'  a  pitch  pine.  The  leaves  is  longer  'n  a 
spruce  'n'  shorter  'n  a  pine,  an'  the  branches  grows  scrag- 
gider  '  n  any  spruce.  They  hain'  t  no  size — never  seen  one 
more'n  ten  inches  't  the  butt.  They  hain't  no  good,  'n' 
I  d'  know  's  they  be  any  hurt,  but  some  folks  thinks  they 
be,  an'  you  couldn't  git  'em  tu  go  a-nigh  one  for  nuthin'. 
Think  if  they  du  the'  '11  suthin'  drefful  happen  tu  'em  or 
some  o'  their  folks.  I  p'sume  the'  hain't  nothin'  of  it. 
'N'  naow  I  guess  it's  baout  time  tu  shet  up  shop — an' 
maouths. ' ' 


XV. 

THE   HARD    EXPERIENCE   OF   MR.    ABIJAH   JARVIS. 

THE  south  wind  had  been  roaring  for  forty-eight  hours 
after  its  .first  piercing  chill,  softening  the  snow  so  that  it 
took  the  imprint  of  the  foot  of  man  and  beast  as  sharp  and 
clear  as  an  impression  in  wax  ;  then  bringing  to  its  surface 
weeds  and  tops  of  knolls,  then  making  it  so  splashy  that 
the  brooks  burst  their  bonds  and  overran  them  in  swi shins: 
yellow  floods,  when  one  January  night  Lisha's  friends 
came  straggling  in  over  the  sloppy  roads.  The  talk  ran 
naturally  to  tracking  'coons,  which  the  weather  favored, 
then  to  the  life  and  habits  of  the  animal. 

"  Wai,  boys,"  said  Lisha,  splashing  a  tap  in  the  tub, 
"s'pose  ye' 11  all  be  arter  'coons  termorrer,  won't  ye? 
This  thaw  '11  fetch  'em  aout." 

"  Wai,  I  d'  know,"  Sam  Lovel  answered  ;  "  I  kind  er 
thought  I' d  take  a  little  turn  arter  'em  'f  nothin'  happens." 

"  Dat  what  we  '11  call  it  chat  sauvage  in  Canada  Ah 
guess  so,  'coon?  Dat  same  ting  Ah' 11  hear  it  sometam 
rrrac  coon  ?  Yas  ?" 

"  Sartinly,  Antwine,"  said  Solon  Briggs,  "  'coon  and 
raccoon  is  what  we  call  anonymous  terms  for  one  and  the 
same  annymill.  Raccoon,  I  expect,  is  a  Latin  or  Greece 
word,  which  'coon  is  the  English  of  it." 

"  Then  grease  is  their  name  as  well  as  their  natur',  for 
they  '  re  the  fattest  creeturs, ' '  said  Sam. 


UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP.  133 

* '  Naow,  Antwine, ' '  asked  Solon,  '  *  what  might  be  the 
true  meanin'  an'  interporation  of  '  shaw  syvadge '  ?" 

"  Wall,  M'sieu  Brigg,  lemme  see,  Ah' 11  tole  you— chat, 
he  mean  cat,  an'  sauvage,  he  mean  he  don't  tame — • 
m-what  you  call  'em  wil'  ?  Chat  sauvage,  wil'cat. 
On' stan'  ?" 

' '  Hm  !  yes,  wildcat,  or  tu  speak  more  eggzack,  puttin' 
the  cart  afore  the  hoss  arter  the  French  fashion,  '  cat  wild/ 
similar  tu  '  shovelnware '  for  a  black  hoss,  which  '  shovel ' 
means  hoss  an'  '  nware '  means  black.  Naow,  hain't 
that  a  most  onnat'  ral  hist'  ry  name,  so  tu  speak,  for  a  '  coon 
or  a  raccoon,  which  it  hain't  noways  the  natur'  of  the 
felime  race,  but  much  more  resemblances  a  bear,  a-layin' 
dormouse  in  winter  an'  eatin'  corn  an'  shack  as  much  as 
meat  victuals,  as  no  critters  of  the  cat  speshy  do  ?" 

"  Sartin,  Solon,  you're  right,"  said  Sam,  "a  'coon 
'ould  make  a  first-rate  little  bear  'f  'twan't  fer  his  tail. 
He's  jes'  as  independent,  an'  hoggish,  an'  sorter  cunnin'- 
foolish,  an'  fond  of  water  an'  mud,  an'  sweet-toothed,  an' 
hot-toothed,  tew,  fer  he'll  dig  wild  turnips  an'  eat  'em  jes' 
's  a  bear  will.  Haow  on  airth  any  critter  't  ha'n't  got  its 
maouth  an'  insides  lined  with  sheet  iron  can  chaw  an' 
swaller  a  green  wild  turnip  's  more  'n  I  can  understand. 
Why,  it's  wus  'n  forty  thaousan'  red-hot  needles  a-jabbin' 
int'  yer  tongue,  'f  ye  ever  bit  one." 

Almost  every  one  present  confessed  to  having  been 
fooled  in  the  days  of  his  youth  by  some  rough  practical 
joker  into  tasting  the  bulbous  root  of  the  plant,  whose 
snake-like  spathe  should  warn  one  that  it  biteth  even  like 
a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder. 

"Wai,  naow,"  .said  Lisha,  laying  aside  his  lapstone, 
shoving  his  spectacles  on  to  the  top  of  his  head,  and  rest- 


134  UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP. 

ing  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  "  that  makes  me  think  of  a 
man  'at  I  knowed  'at  come  tu  his  death  along  o'  foolin' 
a  boy  with  a  wild  turnip,  'n'  I  d'  know  but  what  it  sarved 
him  putty  nigh  right,  naow  ra'ly  I  don't.  His  name  was 
Bijer  Jarvis.  Why,  some  on  ye  knowed  'im  ;  he  use  ter 
run  the  sawmill  up  in  the  Notch.  He  was  a  red-headed, 
cross-grained,  ill-natured  creetur,  't  would  druther  see 
folks  in  hot  water  'n  aout  on  't.  Good  airth  an'  seas  !  'f 
I  ha' n't  spoke  in  meetin',  fer  he  was  Peltier's  uncle  ! 
Peltier's  mother  was  a  Jarvis.  But  she  wa'n't  tu  blame 
fer  it,  'n'  1  hain't  goin'  tu  spile  a  story  fer  relation's  sake, 
so  ye  need  n't  take  no  pride  in  what  I  say,  Peltier." 

"  Honh  !  Gol  darn  Uncle  Bije  !  Blast  his  ole  pic- 
ter  !"  exclaimed  Pelatiah,  "  he  never  done  nothin'  fer 
none  o'  aour  folks  ony  cheat  father  aout  'n  a  yoke  o'  tew- 
ye'r-ol'  steers,  so  I  hearn  'em  tell.  Ye  need  n't  spile  no 
stories  baout  him  on  my  'caount,  Uncle  Lisher. " 

"  Wai,"  Lisha  continued  after  this  little  interruption, 
"  Bijer  was  a-runnin'  the  sawmill,  an'  one  mornin'  when 
he  was  a-goin'  '  long  the  road  through  the  woods  tu  the 
mill  he  seen  a  wild  turnip  an'  pulled  it,  an'  kerried  it 
'long,  thinkin'  mebbe  't  he'd  dry  it  agin  he  had  a  cough  in 
the  fall,  for  some  sets  gret  store  by  wild  turnips  dried  an' 
grated  an'  took  in  'lasses  fer  a  hackin'  cough.  Curous, 
hain't  it,  't  when  they're  dried  they  ha'  no  more  taste  intu 
'em  'n  a  piece  o'  chalk  ?  Wai,  he  mogged  along  tu  the 
mill  an'  rolled  a  lawg  on  t'  the  kerridge  an'  dogged  it  an' 
histed  the  gate,  an'  jes'  then  there  come  along  a  boy 
a-fishin'  o'  the  name  o'  Morrison,  an'  stopped  tu  see  him 
saw.  He  was  al'ays  a-gawpin'  raound,  lookin'  at  the 
contraptions  an'  askin'  questions,  more  'n  boy-fashion, 
fer  he  seem  tu  be  kinder  studyin'  intu  'em,  'n'  they  said 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  135 

't  he  made  a  reg'lar  little  sawmill  complete,  kerridge,  rag 
wheel  an'  all,  an'  sot  it  a-runnin'  in  a  brook  clus  tu  his 
folkses.  It  al'ays  made  Bijer  crosser  'n  two  sticks  tu  see 
him  raound,  'n'  he  didn't  take  no  notice  on  him  till 
bimeby  he  happened  tu  think  of  the  turnip,  'n'  he  ast 
'im  'f  he  liked  apples,  'n'  he  said  he  did,  fer  who  ever  see 
a  boy  't  didn't  ?  Then  s'  he,  '  Did  ye  ever  eat  any  sweet 
graound  apples  ?  Here's  one  o'  the  sweetest  ever  ye  see,' 
handin'  on  'im  the  turnip  ;  '  take  a  bite  o'  it.'  The  boy 
took  a  good  bite  an'  chawed  it  kinder  slow,  lookin'  at 
Bijer,  but  Bijer  looked  tumble  honest  'n'  clever  's  he  ever 
could,  so  the  boy  didn't  think  nothin'.  In  tew  three  min 
utes  it  begin  tu  take  holt,  'n'  then  he  begin  tu  sputter  'n' 
spit'n'  cry,  an'  holler  't  his  maouth  was  full  o'  bumble 
bees  an'  hornets,  'n'  Bijer settin'  there  on  the  lawggoin'  intu 
fits  a-laughin'  at  'im,  till  the  boy  cleared  aout,  mos'  crazy 
with  the  fire  in  his  maouth,  'n'  Bijer  didn't  see  nothin' 
on  'im  agin  fer  a  month,  till  one  day  he  popped  up  ahind 
a  pile  o'  boards  a-shakin'  his  fist  at  'im  an'  hollered, 
*  You  ol'  red-headed  heap  !  I'll  pay  ye  some  time,  see 
'f  I  don't,  'n'  scooted  aout  o'  sight  'fore  Bijer  could  fling 
an  aidgin'  at  'im.  All  this  while  an'  arter,  things  kcp' 
gittin'  aout  o'  kilter  raound  the  mill  :  sticks  in  the  wheel, 
bull-wheel  rope  wore  aout  'n'  breakin',  saw  duller  'n  a 
hoe,  all  kinder  onaccaountable,  nobody  knowed  haow. 
Bimeby  long  late  in  the  fall  when  the  pond  froze  over, 
Bijer  was  a-fussin'  raound  the  bulkhead  one  day,  chop- 
pin'  a  lawg  loose,  or  suthin'  nuther,  'n'  bimeby  he  broke 
through  an'  went  in  kersouze  !  'n'  he  couldn't  git  aout, 
fer  the  ice  wouldn't  hold  an'  the  lawgs  an'*  bulkhead  'n' 
things  was  all  ice,  so  's  't  he  couldn't  keep  no  holt  on  'em, 
'n'  the  water  all  the  while  a-suckin'  his  laigs  int'  the 


136  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

flume.  Jest  then  he  seen  that  'ere  boy  come  skatin'  'long 
the  pond,  'n'  he  hollered  fer  him  tu  reach  him  a  pole  or  a 
board,  but  the  boy  kep'  a  skitterin'  raound  a-laughin'  at 
'im,  an'  says  he,  '  Ole  red-head,  don't  ye  wish  't  ye  hed 
one  o'  them  sweet  graound  apples  tu  warm  ye  up  ?  Mus' 
be  kinder  cool  bathin'  in  there.  I'd  go  'n'  dig  ye  one  'f 
't  wa'n't  all  froze  up.'  Bijer  begged  an'  cussed  an' 
sploshed  raound,  an'  cussed  an'  begged,  'n'  last  when  he 
was  mos'  tuckered  aout  he  begin  tu  pray,  'n'  then  that 
'ere  imp  of  a  boy  hooked  a  pike  pole  into  his  cut-collar 
an'  hauled  him  on  t'  the  ice  'n'  snaked  him  ashore. 
He  couldn't  stan',  'n'  the  boy  went  arter  somebody,  'n' 
they  kerried  'im  hum.  He  never  got  well  agin  arter,  nor 
able  tu  walk.  Some  said  't  was  rheumatiz,  'n'  some  said 
't  was  dyspepsy  in  the  laigs — I  do'  know.  One  day  the 
nex'  summer  when  they'd  sot  'im  aout  on  the  stoop  tip 
ped  back  in  his  cheer,  that  'ere  darned  boy  come  along 
'n'  stood  'n'  gawped  at  'im.  Bimeby  says  he,  '  Mr. 
Jarvis,'  says  he,  '  I've  brung  ye  suthin'  't  '11  du  ye 
good.  I've  took  lots  o'  trouble  tu  git  it  for  ye.'  'N'  he 
pulled  an  alfired  gret  wild  turnip  rut  aout'n  his  pocket. 
'  Take  a  bite  an'  chaw  it  daown,'  says  he,  a  shovin'  on  it 
under  his  nose  ;  '  take  a  bite  ;  I've  owed  ye  one  more'n  a 
year.'  Bijer  gin  a  kinder  start,  'n'  the  hind  laigs  of  his 
cheer  slipped,  'n'  he  come  daown  ker  lummux  !  'n'  hurt 
his  head  some  way  so  's  't  he  died  in  a  week  or  tew.  'N' 
that's  what  he  got  for  feedin'  boys  wild  turnips." 

**  Bah  gosh  !     Ah   guess  wen   he  begin  to  dead  he'll 
sorry  he  foolish  dat  boys,  an't  it  ?' ' 

"  That  boy,"  said  Solon,  "  was  vindictative. " 
"  I   do'    know  as  that  was   what  they  called   it,"  said 
Lisha  ;   "seems  though  they  said   he  was  injinnew-ous. 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  137 

Anyway,  he  went  off,  'n'  they  say  't  he's  what  they  call  a 
injin-near  on  one  o'  them  'ere  steam  railroads  daown  in 
Massachusetts  somewheres." 

"  Du  you  think,  Sammywell,"  Solon  asked,  getting 
back  to  the  subject  under  consideration,  "that  the  vocal 
voice  of  a  'coon  resemblances  a  screechaowl  ?" 

"Wai,"  Sam  answered,  "I  do'  know.  Some  says  that 
a  'coon  does  make  a  noise  sometimes  'at  saounds  suth- 
in'  like  a  screechaowl,  only  kinder  hoarser.  I  had  a 
tame  'coon  onct  fer  most  a  year,  but  I  never  hearn  him 
du  anything  but  graowl  when  he  was  mad,  an'  squall 
when  he  was  hurt,  jes'  you've  hearn'  em  when  a  dawg 
hed  a  holt  on  'em.  He  was  the  cunninest  little  cuss  ! 
Intu  all  the  mischief  he  could  think  on,  an'  more  tew. 
The  chickins  hed  tu  suffer  when  he  got  intu  the  hen 
haouse,  every  time,  'n'  he'd  raise  tunkit  with  everything 
he  could  git  intu  in  the  haouse.  When  he  was  eatin'  he'd 
keep  a-sozzlin'  his  grub  in  his  pan  o'  water  all  the  time. 
Uncle  Lisher  makes  me  think  on  'im  every  time  he 
sploshes  his  luther  in  his  tub.  Shouldn't  wonder,  Uncle 
Lisher,  'f  you  turned  intu  a  'coon  yit. " 

11  Darn'd  'f  I  wouldn't  like  tu  part  o'  the  year,  Sam- 
will.  Wouldn't  it  be  cute  to  curl  up  when  the  col' 
weather  come  on  an'  snooze  till  spring  or  a  thaw  come, 
an'  not  haf  tu  bother  gittin'  wood  or  grub  ?'' 

"  Ye'd  want  tu  take  yer  long  pipe  with  ye,  an'  some 
terbacker  an'  matches  in  yer  pocket  when  ye  went  intu  a 
holler  tree — 't  would  be  lonesome  goin'  without  a  smoke 
so  long." 

"  Naow,  does  'coons  hev  pockets?"  asked  the  man 
who  never  spoke  but  to  ask  a  question. 

"  Course  they  du,"    Sam  answered  shortly  ;   "  inside 


138  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

pockets,  V  I  d'  know  but  cut-tail  pockets  an'  trowses 
pockets.  An'  then  agin,  Uncle  Lisher,  when  the'  come  a 
thaw  an'  ye  turned  aout  an'  went  traipsin'  raound  an* 
somebody  tracked  ye  intu  another  tree,  haow  'd  ye  like  tu 
hev  'em  cud  daown  the  tree  'n'  knock  ye  in  the  head  ?" 

"  'T  would  be  you,  Sam  will,  'at  faound  me,  an'  you'd 
know  me  by  the  smell  o'  luther,  'n'  you  wouldn't  hurt 
yer  Uncle  Lisher.  'N'  I'm  glad  you  made  me  think  on 
't,  fer  I  guess  I'd  ort  tu  hev  a  smuk  afore  I  turn  intu  a 
'coon."  Whereupon  he  cleaned  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  with 
an  awl,  ran  a  waxed  end  through  the  stem,  blew  through 
it,  and  then  shaving  some  tobacco  from  a  plug  on  his 
cutting-board  with  a  shoe-knife,  was  presently  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  what  he  called  a  "  ri'daown  good  smuk." 

"  Ah  bet  too  he  a' n't  fregit  when  he  be  'coon  as'  you, 
Sam,  haow  you  lak  it  you  boot,  an'  when  you  tole  'im  he 
too  tight  he  say  *  he  straysh  !  *  Wen  you  tole  'im  he  too 
loose,  he  say  '  he  shrimp  !  '  Hein,  One'  Lasha,  you 
don't  fregit  dat,  a' n't  it?" 

"  Arrrh  !  You  dum  peasouper  !"'  Lisha  growled,  like 
a  good-natured  bear. 

"  'F  you  want  fur,"  said  Sam,  "  trackin'  'coons  on  the 
snow  's  all  well  'nough,  but  it's  mortal  hard  work  wal- 
lerin'  in  the  soft  snow  all  day.  But  'f  you  want  fun  an' 
music,  take  yer  dawgs  an'  hunt  'em  nights  in  cornfiel's, 
an'  where  they've  ben  shackin'  under  sweet  acorn  trees, 
an'  sometimes  you'll  strike  a  track  'long  a  brook  where 
they've  ben  a-froggin'.  Hev  tew  three  good  haoun's 
a-hootin'  on  a  track  fer  a  good  spell,  an'  then  singin' 
halleluyer  raound  a  tree  !  That's  what  I  call  fun  alive  ! 
Some  druther  hev  a  cur  dawg  'at  won't  bark  till  he  trees, 
but  gimme  more  music,  'f  I've  got  tu  hev  less  'coons." 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  139 

"  Wai,"  said  Lisha,  ramming  his  pipe  with  the  handle 
of  his  awl,  "  everybody  tu  their  notion,  's  the  ol'  woman 
said  when  she  kissed  her  kyow,  but  I  could  n't  never — 
sen*  I  was  a  boy— see  no  gret  fun  in  stumblin'  raound  in 
the  dark  'n'  fightin'  skeeters  half  the  night,  fer  one  or 
tew  'coons  with  baout  as  much  hair  on  'em  's  the'  is 
on  the  back  o'  yer  hand,  'n'  like  's  not,  not  git  nary 
'coon  arter  all.' ' 

"Why,  Uncle  Lisher,"  said  Sam  Lovel,  "didn't  we 
hev  fun  the  night  the  'coons  broke  up  the  school-meetin'  ?. 
an'  is  that  ra'ly  your  idee  of  the  fun  o'  huntin',  jest  tu  git 
suthin'  that's  wuth  money  ?  Seems  tu  me,  if  fur  an'  meat 
's  all  a  feller  's  arter,  he  ain't  goin'  tu  git  no  gret  comfort 
aout  on  't." 

"  Shaw,  Sam  will  !  you  hain't  a-goin'  tu  ondertake  tu 
make  me  b'lieve  't  you  don't  feel  better  a-bringin'  hum  a 
fox  skin,  er  a  'coon  skin,  er  half  a  dozen  patridges,  'n' 
ye  du  comin'  hum  wi'  nothin'  ?  I  know  better  'n' 
that." 

"  Of  course  I  like  tu  git  suthin'  tu  show  fer  a  day's  hunt, 
an'  it's  comf  table  tu  the  feelin's  tu  make  a  good  shot, 
but  'f  I  didn't  never  git  nuthin'  only  what  I  c'n  show,  I 
sh'ld  stay  tu  hum  more  'n  what  I  du.  If  dollars  an' 
cents  an'  suthin'  t'  eat  was  all  I  was  arter,  I'd  snare  pat- 
ridges  'n'  trap  foxes,  an'  you  never  heard  o'  my  doin' 
nary  one." 

1 '  Wai,  then,  Sam  will,  what  on  airth  du  ye  go  fer  ? 
Ye  hunt  more  'n'  'most  anybody  I  know,  an'  ye  git  more 
game. ' ' 

"  I  can't  hardly  tell,  Uncle  Lisher.  It  comes  nat'ral 
fer  me  tu  run  in  the  woods.  'F  I  du  git  more  game  tu 
show  for  it  'n'  some  does,  I  git  suthin'  besides  't  I  can't 


140  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

show.  The  air  o'  the  woods  tastes  good  tu  me,  fer  %t 
hain't  ben  breathed  by  nothin'  but  wild  creeturs,  's  'n  ole 
feller  said  'at  useter  git  up  airly  daown  in  Rho'dislan', 
where  my  folks  come  from.  I  luffter  breathe  it  'fore  com 
mon  folks  has.  The  smell  o'  the  woods  smells  good  lu 
me,  dead  leaves  'n'  spruce  boughs,  'n'  rotten  wood,  'n'  it 
don't  hurt  it  none  if  it's  spiced  up  a  leetle  bit  with  skunk 
an'  mink  an'  weasel  an'  fox  p'fum'ry.  An'  I  luffter 
see  trees  'at  's  older  'n  any  men,  an'  graound  't  wa'n't 
never  plaowed  'er  hoed,  a-growin'  nat'ral  crops.  'N'  I 
luffter  hear  the  stillness  of  the  woods,  fer  't  is  still  there. 
Wind  a-sythin',  leaves  a-rustlin',  brooks  a-runnin',  birds 
a-singin',  even  a  bluejay  a  squallin',  hain't  noises.  It 
takes  folks  an'  waggins  an'  horses  an'  cattle  an'  pigs  an' 
sech  to  make  a  noise.  I  git  lots  o'  things  a  huntin'  't 
I  can't  show  ye  nor  tell  ye  baout,  an'  a  feller  that  don't, 
don't  git  the  best  o'  huntin',  'cordin'  to  my  idee." 

"  I  do'  know  but  what  ye've  got  baout  the  right  on  't, 
Samwill, "  said  Lisha,  after  smoking  slowly  and  gazing  for 
some  minutes  out  into  the  dark  through  his  long  window, 
"  1  do'  know  but  what  ye  hev,  Samwill.  Wai,  boys,  'f 
ye  'r  goin'  arter  'coons  termorrer  ye' 11  want'er  sleep  some 
fust."  And  he  arose  and  took  off  his  apron,  and  presently 
the  wooden  latch  clicked  behind  the  last  departing  guest. 


XVI. 

THE   COON   HUNT. 

ONE  February  night  when  the  crusted  snow  on  the 
ridges  and  drifts  shone  brighter  than  burnished  silver  in 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  newly-risen  moon,  Lisha's  friends 
arriving  in  force  found  the  old  man  studying  his  almanac 
by  the  light  of  his  little  candle.  So  absorbed  was  he  in 
the  latest  work  of  his  favorite  author  that  he  barely  noticed 
the  entrance  of  his  visitors,  and  only  gave  one  comprehen  • 
sive  nod  of  general  recognition  and  welcome,  without 
averting  his  gaze  from  the  limp  little  pamphlet,  already 
well  worn,  though  not  yet  two  months  off  the  store-keep 
er's  shelf. 

"Be  you  a-studyin'  of  the  prognostifications  of  the 
weather,  Uncle  Lisher?'"'  Solon  Briggs  inquired,  craning 
his  neck  sidewise  from  his  seat  by  the  stove,  "  or  be  you 
merely  divertin'  the  intellecks  of  your  mental  mind,  a  per- 
ugin'  of  the  antidotes  ?  I  b'  lieve, ' '  he  continued,  addressing 
the  company  generally,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  an  answer, 
'  'at  the'  is  more  solider  inflamation  and  stay-tistics  in  the 
V'mont  Re-£7'sser  'an  what  the'  is  in  Middlebrookses'  Far 
mer's  Almynack,  which  Uncle  Lisher  is  a-readin'  of ;  but 
Middlebrookses'  is  tol'able  hefty  on  weather  productions, 
drawin'  aside  the  screenins  o'  futur'  comin'  events, 'as  it 
ware,  an'  the  antidotes  an'  re-cypes  is  amusin'  an'  in- 
structin'.  I  see  'at  the'  's  tew  re-cypes  fer  curin'  hams. 


142 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 


Like  'nough  Lisher  's  study  in'  them,  bein'  'at  he  killed  a 
hawg  last  week." 

But  Uncle  Lisha's  spectacles  were  brought  to  bear  on 
the  page  headed  with  the  gray  wood-cut  of  two  men  break 
ing  and  swingling  flax,  and  in  the  background  a  prancing 
horse  hitched  to  a  sleigh  that  he  never  could  break  was 
being  swingled  by  his  driver  with  a  club  of  a  whip. 
Lisha's  forefinger  went  down  the  columns  of  the  days  of 
the  weeks  and  month  as  slowly  as  ran  the  cautious  weather 
prophecy  : 

Now  expect 

cold  weather 

and  good 

sleighing  for 

, some 

(Sexeg.  Sunday) time 

(©  low  in  South.) 

Cloudy 

cold  weather  and 

likely 

for  snow, 

rain 

and 

hail. 

High  winds 

and 

(G.  Washington  b.  1732.) 

cold. 

Snow. 

till  it  stopped  at  "26,  Sat./'  and  underscored  the  date 
with  a  deep  nail-mark.  "  Good  airth  an'  seas  I"  he 
shouted.  "  Boys,  did  ye  know  't  this  was  the  twenty-sixt' 
of  Febewary  ?  This  is  the  day  't  the  ol'  bear  comes  aout  ! 
He's  seen  his  shadder,  'n'  he  won't  poke  his  nose  int'  the 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  143 

daylight  agin  fer  forty  days.  We  sh'll  hev'  a  col'  March, 
'n'  like  'nough  the  wind  '11  be  north  when  the  sun  crosses 
the  line,  'n'  then  we'll  hev'  a  back'ard  spring  'n'  a  poor 
corn  year." 

"  Bah  gosh  !  One'  Lasha,  ef  dat  de  way  you  goin' 
mek  wedder,  Ah  ant  want  it  you  mek  heem  for  me  more 
as  a  week  !  Dat  way  you'll  ant  rose  no  corn  fo'  you 
bear,  hein  ?" 

"  Arghem  !"  Solon  Briggs  began,  clearing  his  throat 
and  sticking  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  vest,  "  I 
hev  my  daoubts  consarnin'  the  paower  of  human  mortality 
tu  foretell  the  comin'  futur'  weather,  which  it  bein'  the 
case,  it  hain't  no  way  phillysophycable  that  beasts  an' 
annymills,  which  human  man  is  sot  above  'em,  has  that 
segashiousness  gin  'em.  Haow  is  wild  geese  a-goin'  tu 
know  more  'n  we  du  when  winter  's  a-comin',  or  mush- 
rats  tu  perpare  their  inhabitations — when  they  build 
haousen — fer  a  more  'n  oncommonly  tough  winter,  or 
bears  an'  woo' chucks  know  whether  the  spring  '11  be 
back'ard  or  for' ad?  Haowever  notwithstandin' ,  I  du 
not  deny  there  bein'  signs  gi'n  whereby  an'  by  which  we 
can  tell  suthin'  more  or  less  haow  the  weather  's  a-goin' 
tu  be,  sech  f'r  instance  as  hawg's  melt  an'  the  hus's  o' 
corn,  the  haighth  o'  weeds  an'  et  celery." 

"Wai,  Solon,"  said  Sam,  "  your idees  an'  mine  don't 
jibe  egzackly.  You  'low  't  a  man  can  tell  if  it's  goin'  tu 
be  a  hard  or  open  winter  by  lookin'  't  a  hawg's  melt  'n' 
corn  hus's  an'  so  on — but  annymills  can't  tell  by  nothin'. 
Naow,  I  don't  b'lieve  there's  any  tellin'  by  a  hawg's  melt 
nor  corn  hus's,  fer  you'll  find  dil'fent  shaped  melts  in  dif - 
fent  hawgs  killed  the  same  day— an'  what  awdds  does  't 
make  tu  an  ear  o'  corn  whether  the  hus's  is  thick  or  thin 


144  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

's  long  's  they'll  be  loosened  off  'fore  winter  anyway? 
An'  the  weeds  grows  tall  'cause  it's  a-growin'  season,  not 
'cause  the  snow  's  goin'  tu  be  deep.  But  'sposen  a  man 
can  tell  by  signs  't  he  sees.  Why  can't  annymills,  'at 
can  see  things,  an'  hear  things,  an'  smell  things  't  we 
can't  begin  tu  ?  A  turkey  '11  see  a  hen  hawk  'fore  it  be 
gins  tu  be  a  speck  in  the  sky  tu  you  an'  me,  an'  by  seem' 
or  smellin'  a  crow  '11  find  carri'n  milds  off ;  a  fox  '11  smell 
a  maouse,  or  hear  him  squeak  or  rustle  the  grass  furder 
'n  we  c'ld  see  one  on  the  snow,  an'  he  can  smell  the  tech 
o'  yer  finger  on  a  bait  fer  a  week  arter.  Swallers  know 
when  it's  goin'  tu  rain  or  blow.  Mebby  they  can  smell 
weather — I  d'  know.  An'  dumb  creeturs  has  got  senses  't 
we  ha' n't  got,  besides  hevin'  aourn  a  good  deal  sharper  'n 
we  hev.  Hapw  does  a  haoun'  dog  strike  a  bee-line  fer 
hum  when  he's  done  a-huntin',  or  a  cat  'at's  ben  kerried 
in  a  bag  thre  mild  find  her  way  back,  or  birds  find  their 
way  thaousan's  o'  miles  back  an'  tew  year  arter  year,  or 
ioxes  know  runways  '  t  they  never  seen  ?  Fer  my  part, 
I'd  a  good  deal  druther  trust  tu  dumb  creeturs  foretellin' 
the  weather  'n  seasons  'n  1  would  tu  what  I  c'ld  find  aout 
by  studyin'  melts  an'  hus's.  I'd  druther  take  a  wild 
goose's  or  a  mushrat's  actions  'an  I  would  even  your  word 
for  't,  Solon." 

"  You  can  b'lieve  what  y'r  min'  tu,  Sammy  well,  but 
I  b'lieve  'at  there  is  sartin  signs  gi'n  fer  aour  guidancin', 
which,  f'r  instance,  I  wouldn't  kill  my  hawgs  or  my  beef- 
crutter  in  the  old  o'  the  moon  onless  I  wanted  the  meat  tu 
shrink  in  the  cookin',  ner  sow  my  peas  in  the  wanin'  o' 
that  lunimary  'f  I  wanted  'em  tu  grow  luxuberant." 

"Wai,  wal,  boys,"  said  Lisha,  who  had  hung  the  al 
manac  on  its  nail  by  the  window  and  got  some  work  in 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  145 

hand,  "  nev'  mind  baout  the  signs,  an'  '  nev'  mind  the 
weather  when  the  wind  don't  blow.'  I'm  achin'  to  hear 
what  luck  ye  hed  arter  'coons  that  day.  I  hearn  't  ye 
most  all  went." 

"  Ast  Joe,"  some  one  said,  and  Lisha  asked,  glaring  at 
Joe  between  his  shaggy  eyebrows  and  the  top  of  his  spec- 
taJ.es.  "  Haow  is  't,  Jozeff  ?  Be  you  cock  o'  the  walk 
this  time  ?" 

"  Wai,  I  d'  know  but  what  I  be,  'f  ye  caount  walkin' 
an'  choppin'.  I  da'  say  I  done  's  much  o'  that  's  any 
on  'em.  I  'spose  'f  I  don't  give  a  full  'caount  on  't, 
some  on  'em  '11  give  a  fuller  one.  Wai,  I  went,  an' 
Peltier  he  went  along  with  me,  '  n'  he  didn'  t  kerry  no  axe  ; 
said  't  he'd  got  a  lame  shoulder  'n'  couldn't  chop  'thaout 
mos'  killin'  on  'im.  It  got  well  tu  rights,  though,  fer  I 
seen  'im  choppin'  cord  wood  nex'  day.  We  started  aout 
baout  eight  'clock  er  ha'-past — mebby  't  wa'n't  more  'n 
eight — I  d'  know,  quarter  arter,  mebby,  'n'  struck  a  track 
where  three  'coons  'd  ben  'long  daown  in  the  Beav'  Med- 
der  swamp  in  the  night.  The  tracks  went  a-saunderin' 
raound  hither  an'  yon,  'n'  fin'ly  went  off  up  on  't  the 
hill  east,  'n'  then  north — no  't  wa'n't,  't  was  saouth — 
'n'  then  east  agin  'n'  then  north  'n'  then  east,  an'  says  I  to 
Peltier,  says  I,  they've  went  int'  the  laidges  'n'  't  a'  no 
use  in  us  follerin'  on  'em  ;  but  Peltier,  says  he,  le's  us 
foller  'n'  see  where  they  hev  gone.  Like  'nough  we  c'n 
trap  'm  aout.  So  we  follered  an'  follered,  snow  knee 
deep,  till  bimeby,  arter  they'd  went  all  raound  Robin 
Hood's  barn,  they  went  towward  the  Beav'  Medder  agin, 
an'  into  't,  an'  stopped  t'  the  all-tummuttablest  gret  big 
ellum  in  the  hull  swamp — the  tracks  did.  We  searched 
all  raound,  'n'  couldn't  find  't  they'd  went  any  furder,  'n' 


146  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

so  I  off  wi'  my  cut  an'  begin  tu  chop.  An'  I  chopped 
an'  chopped,  'n'  Peltier  he  stood  raound  encouragin'  on 
me  'n'  chawin'  gum  an'  gruntin' — every  time  I  swatted 
the  ol'  axe  int'  the  tree,  he'd  grunt — I  tell  ye,  he  grunted 
like  a  good  feller,  'nough  tu  chop  a  cord  'n'  a  half  o' 
wood.  That  ere  ol'  ellum  was  jes'  's  solid  as  ol'  pork 
clean  tu  the  middle,  'n'  'twas  all  o'  three  foot  through,  I 
d'  know  but  three  foot  'n'  a  half — mebby  ' t  wa' n' t  but 
three  foot  through —any way,  't  was  tougher  'n'  a  biled 
aowl,  'n'  the'  wa'n't  no  holler  in  the  butt,  'n'  I  tol'  Pel 
tier,  I  did,  'at  I'd  bate  a  cookey  the'  wa'n't  a  dum  'coon 
in  the  pleggid  ol'  ellum.  Wai,  I  chopped  an'  chopped, 
till  I  sweat  like  a  man  a-mowin',  an'  I  tell  ye  I  was  glad 
when  I  see  the  ol'  tree  begin  tu  tottle  an'  then  come 
daown  kersmash  !  An'  I'll  be  dum'ed  if  it  didn't  lodge 
in  another  ellum  half  as  big  !  An'  I  hed  to  chop  that 
daown  tew,  Peltier  helpin'  on  me,  chawin'  gum  an' grunt- 
in'.  Wai,  sir,  when  we  got  it  cud  daown,  baout  noon 
1  guess  't  was — mebby  arter — mebby  not  more'n  ha'  past 
'leven— the'  was  a  hole  most  't  the  top  big  'nough  tu  hold 
a  dozen  'coons,  an'  the'  wa'n't  a  dum'ed  one  in  it ! 
It  hed  froze  jest  a  leetle  towward  mornin',  'n'  they'd 
come  aout  an'  gone  off  on  the  crust.  But  we  hed  us  a 
heap  o'  fun,  didn't  we,  Peltier?" 

"  Honh  !"  Pelatiah  snorted,  "I  do'  know  but  what 
you  did." 

"  Wai,  Sam  will,"  said  Lisha,  "  it's  your  turn  naow." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  du  nuthin'  much.  Follered  tew  int'  an 
old  basswood  stubb  't  I  could  mos'  push  over,  an'  got 
them  an'  one  't  was  in  there  afore." 

"  Julluk  your  luck,  Sam  will,"  said  Lisha. 

"  I  faound  a  cur'us  kind  of  a  thing  in  the  stub,  sort  of 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  147 

a  'coon  plaything,  I  reckon  it  is.  I  brung  it  along  tu  show 
ye,"  said  Sam,  taking  out  of  his  pocket  a  knot  or  gnarl 
about  the  size  of  a  man's  fist,  and  worn  quite  smooth  with 
much  handling  (or  footing)  by  the  raccoons. 

"  Wai,"  said  Lisha,  after  this  had  been  passed  around 
and  examined  by  all,  Pelatiah  chipping  a  side  of  it  with 
his  knife  and  smelling  it,  "  Wai,  wha'  'd  you  du,  Solon  ?' ' 

"  I  did  not  precipitate  in  the  sports  and  aversions  of  the 
day." 

"One'  Lasha,  what  for  you  ant  ask  it  me?"  cried 
Antoine.  "  Bah  gosh  !  'f  Ah' 11  git  all  a  'coon  what  Ah' 11 
see  dat  tarn,  Ah'll  tole  so  big  story  you  mos'  can'  b'lieve 
him,  sah." 

"  Wai,  Ann  Twine,  'sposen  you  tell  us  what  ye  seen. 
I  ha'  no  daoubt  that  '11  be  all  't  we  c'n  swaller  tu  onct." 

"  Wai,  sah,  Ah  'm  's  go'n'  tole  you  de  trute,  jes'  sem 
always  Ah  do.  Ah'll  go  'lone,  'cause  all  what  Ah  git  Ah 
want  heem  masef,  jes'  lak  Sam,  ant  it,  Sam  ?  Ef  t'ant  for 
dat  Ah'll  have  it  somebody  for  what  you  call  heem — m — 
wisnit?  Fus  ting  Ah  say,  Ah'll  want  you  rembler  Ah 
don't  goin'  tole  you  where  Ah  see  what  Ah'll  see'  'cause 
Ah  'm  's  goin'  git  it  some  tarn,  me. 

"  Wai,  sah,  Ah  go  fin'  track  one  chat  sauvage,  folia  him 
leetly  way  Ah  fin'  nudder  come  wid  it,  bamby  nudder, 
den  nudder,  den  nudder.  Ah  see  so  much  track  Ah  mos' 
can'  co'nt  it — ten,  fifteen,  tvventee,  prob'ly  more  as  tree 
four  tree  full  Ah  guess  so.  Wai,  Ah  folia,  folia,  folia  ver' 
long  way.  Bamby  Ah  hear  it  nowse,  mos'  lak  big  ham 
mer  ov'  dar  in  de  forge,  ony  he  ant  go  so  fas' — Boom! 
Boom  / — so,  'baoutfas'  you  breeze  you  bress.  More  furder 
Ah  go,  more  was  be  dat  nowse  louder,  an  Ah  begin  mos' 
be  'fred,  me,  but  Ah  don'  care,  Ah'll  folia  dem  track  till 


148  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

Ah  come  close  to  big  laidge,  an'  dat  track  all  go  in  leetly 
hole  jes'  mos'  too  small  'nough  for  one  'coon  sauvage. 
Den  Ah  see  what  mek  it  dat  nowse.  Fes,  sah,  you 
b'lieve  it  me,  de  whole  top  dat  laidge,  big,  big  rock,  more 
bigger  dis  shawp,  he  lif  up  'baout  two  ninches  ver-y  slow- 
so— den  come  daovvn  boom!  den  lif  up,  den  come  daown 
boom!  Bamby  Ah'll  hear  it  more  leetly  nowse  when  rock 
lif  up — Squon-n  -n-h  !  lak  One'  Lasha  mek  it  when  he  be 
sleep,  ony  not  so  louder  lak  One'  Lasha.  Bamby  putty 
soon  Ah  bee-gin  be  not  so  'fred,  an'  den  Ah'll  peeck  in 
hole.  Evry  tarn  rock  lif  up  lit  shine  in  so  Ah  can  see  ; 
an'  what  you  tink  Ah  see?  More  as  tree— honded— - 
tausen  chat  r-r- raccoon — all  fas'  sleep  !  Yes,  sah  !  Evry 
tarn  he  pull  his  bref  he  swell  up  full  of  breeze  an  lif  up 
rock.  Wen  he  let  it  go  his  bref,  den  rock  come  daown — 
boom  !  Ah'  11  see  it ;  he  so  far  in  off  Ah  can'  git  it.  No, 
sah,  Ah  ant  gat  not  one  of  it !  Das  too  bad.  Oh,  too 
bad,  too  bad  !" 

"  Wai,  I  swan  tu  man  !"  said  Solon,  exhaling  a  long 
breath.  "  I  du  declar,  Antwine,  you're  wus  'n  Annymias 
an'  Sophier  fer  onvoracity." 

"  I  move,"  said  Lisha,  pitching  away  his  hammer  and 
tumbling  his  lapstone  on  to  the  floor,  "  I  move  'at  this 
'ere  meetin'  du  a  journ  afore  it  gits  so  mad  'at  it  up  an' 
kills  that  'ere  durn'ed  'tarnal  lyin'  Canuck  !  An'  I  secont 
the  motion  an'  it's  kerried  unamous." 

"  Du  you  ra-ly 'spose,"  the  questioner  whispered  in 
Joseph  Hill's  ear  as  they  went  out  into  the  moonlight, 
"  'at  Antwine  was  a  tyin'  ?" 


XVII. 

IN   THE   SUGAR   CAMP. 

THE  first  warm  days  of  spring  had  come,  when  for  all 
the  chill  of  the  frosty  nights,  the  sky  and  the  white  clouds 
drifting  across  it  looked  soft  and  hazy  as  in  summer.  The 
voice  of  the  crow  had  become  a  familiar  sound  again  ;  the 
first  robin  had  been  reported  ;  more  than  one  bluebird  had 
sung  its  short  sweet  song  in  the  valley  ;  and  Lisha  had 
seen  a  phebe  perched  on  a  dry  sunflower  stalk  in  his  gar 
den,  and  making  thence  her  unerring  swoops  upon  the  flies 
that,  thawed  to  life  again,  buzzed  about  the  sunny  side  of 
the  fence.  The  snow  was  deep  in  the  woods  yet,  but  it 
had  grown  coarse  grained,  and  all  the  winter  litter  of 
branches  and  twigs  and  latest  fallen  leaves  seemed  to  be 
upon  its  surface,  and  it  was  gray  in  patches  with  myriads 
of  ever-moving  snow  fleas.  In  the  open  whole  southward- 
sloping  fields  were  bare  and  brown  except  their  borders  of 
drifts,  and  here  and  there  bits  of  the  road  were  dry  and 
firm,  most  pleasant  to  feet  long  accustomed  to  the  uncer 
tain  and  slippery  footing  of  wintry  ways.  Here  and  there 
at  a  homestead  a  man  or  boy  in  shirt-sleeves  was  working 
up  the  great  pile  of  sled- length  wood  into  fuel,  but  most 
of  the  *'  men  folks"  were  away  in  the  sap  works  gathering 
their  great  harvest  of  the  year. 

Among  the  tall  maples  that  grew  on  some  hillside  of 
every  farm  the  smoke  of  the  sugar  camp  drifted  upward, 


150  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

and  the  daily  and  nightly  labors  there  of  all  Lisha  s  friends 
had  for  some  time  prevented  their  customary  visits  to  the 
shop.  Lisha  having,  as  he  said,  "got  tew  ol'  an'  short- 
winded  tu  waller  raound  in  the  snow,  an'  never  could 
git  the  heng  o'  snow-shoein',"  had  hired  Pelatiah  to  do 
his  sugar-making,  while  he  attended  to  his  shoemaking  and 
mending.  But  getting  veiy  lonely  with  his  solitary  labors, 
during  a  slack  run  of  sap  he  sent  his  henchman  out  among 
his  friends  with  a  verbal  "  invite"  to  a  sugaring  off  at  his 
camp  on  a  certain  evening.  Accordingly  at  "  airly  candle 
light' in',"  the  guests  came  straggling  in,  and  were  loudly 
and  warmly  welcomed  by  their  host.  "  I'm  dreffle  glad 
tu  see  ye,  boys  !  I  hain't  sot  eyes  on  ye  fer  a  month  o' 
Sundays,  seems  'ough.  Make  yerselves  tu  hum,  an'  I'll 
sweeten  ye  up  tu  rights."  The  little  open-fronted  shanty 
faced  a  rude  fireplace,  a  low  wall  of  rough  stones  enclosing 
on  three  sides  a  square  yard  wherein  burned  a  rousing  fire 
that  shed  a  comfortable  warmth  into  the  farthest  corner  of 
the  shanty,  and  lighted  up  the  trees  for  rods  about.  To 
one  side  stood  the  "  store  trough,"  a  huge  log  hollowed 
out  to  hold  the  sap  as  gathered.  The  great  potash  kettle 
slung  by  a  log-chain  to  its  monstrous  crane,  a  tree  trunk 
balanced  on  a  stump,  was  swung  off  the  fire,  and  the  syrup 
was  bubbling  in  a  smaller  kettle,  carefully  tended  by  Lisha 
and  Pelatiah. 

"  Wai,  boys,"  the  old  man  said,  after  testing  the  syrup 
for  the  twentieth  time  by  pouring  it  slowly  out  of  his  dip 
per,  "  it  begins  tu  luther-ap'n,  an'  I  guess  it's  baout 
ready.  Peltier,  you  put  aout  an'  git  tew  three  buckets  o' 
clean  snow  ;  Samwill,  ketch  a  holt  o'  that  'ere  stick  an' 
help  me  histe  this  'ere  kittle  off.  Naow,  then,  fetch  up 
some  seats,  the'  is  sap  tubs  'nough  layin'  raound.  Sam- 


UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP.  151 

will,  Jozeff,  Solon,  some  o'  ye,  the'  's  a  baskit  of  biscuit 
in  back  there  under  my  cut,  an'  a  bowl  o'  pickles  ;  won't 
ye  jes'  fetch  'em  aout?" 

So  bustling  about,  he  at  last  got  his  guests  seated  around 
the  kettle  of  hot  sugar  and  the  buckets  of  snow,  and  they 
fell  to,  each  in  turn  dipping  out  some  syrup,  and  pouring 
it  in  dabs  upon  the  snow,  when  it  presently  cooled  into 
waxy  clots  ready  for  eating. 

"  Pass  raound  them  'ere  biscuits,  Peltier — ta'  keer, 
don't  tip  the  kittle  over  wi'  yer  dum'ed  hommils  !  Mos' 
's  good  's  wild  honey,  hain't  it,  Samwill?''  Lisha  asked, 
smacking  his  lips  after  disposing  of  a  big  mouthful. 

"Id*  know  but  what  it's  jist  as  good  t'  eat,"  said  Sam, 
"  but  the'  hain't  much  fun  a-gittin'  on  it." 

"  Naow,  du  you  r'aly  think  the'  is  much  fun  in  bee- 
huntin',  Samwill?"  Lisha  asked. 

"  Sartinly  I  du.  'Tain't  so  excitin'  as  fox-huntin'  an' 
sech,  but  it  takes  a  feller  int'  the  woods  in  a  pleasant  time 
o'  year,  an'  it's  interestin'  seein'  the  bees  a-workin'  an' 
seein'  haow  clust  you  c'n  line  'em  and  cross-line  'em,  an' 
a  feller's  got  tu  hev'  some  gumption,  an' — wal,  I'd  a  good 
deal  druther  hunt  bees  'an  tu  lug  sap." 

"  By  gol  !  so  'Id  I,"  said  Pelatiah.  "  My  shoulders  is 
nigh  abaout  numb  kerryin'  the  gosh  darned  ol'  neck- 
yoke." 

"  It  mus'  be  tough  on  that  'ere  lame  shoulder  o'  yourn, 
Peltier,"  Joe  Hill  remarked,  withholding  a  paddleful  of 
sugar  from  his  open  jaws,  while  he  bestowed  a  general  wink 
upon  the  party. 

"  Honh  !  I  hain't  got  no  lame  shoulder  in  p'tic'lar — 
not  naow,  I  hain't." 

*'  Wal  naow,  boys,"  Lisha  said,  after  all  had  plied  their 


152  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

paddles  silently  but  diligently  for  some  time,  "  this  is 
what  I  call  bein'  kinder  sosherble  agin.  'Tain't  quite  so 
cosey  as  the  shop,  but  we've  got  all  aou' doors  for  room  " 

"  Not  inside  on  us,  we  hain't — leastways  I  hain't" 
said  Joe  Hill  ;  "  this  'ere  maple  sweet  is  turrible  fillin'." 

"Take  a  pickle  if  y'rcl'yed,  Jozeff,  an'  begin  agin/' 
Lisha  urged,  on  hospitable  deeds  intent,  but  Joe  declined, 
and  soon  all  but  Pelatiah  desisted  and  tossed  into  the  fire 
the  little  wooden  paddles  which  had  served  as  spoons. 

"  This  is  what  I  call  raal  comfort,"  said  Sam  Lovel, 
after  lighting  his  pipe  with  a  coal  and  stretching  himself 
on  the  evergreen  twigs  in  the  shanty.  "The'  hain't 
nothin'  like  an  aou' door  fire  an'  a  shanty  like  this  an'  a 
bed  o'  browse  fer  raal  genywine  restin'  comfort  !" 

"  Wai,  it  hain't  bad  for  onct  'n  a  while  in  pleasant 
weather  ;  but  fer  a  steady  thing,  I'd  a  leetle  druther  hev  a 
good  ruff  over  my  head,  an'  plarstered  walls  raound  me, 
an'  a  fireplace  or  a  stove,"  said  Lisha,  and  then  to  avoid 
unprofitable  discussion — "  Sarnwill,  I  s'pose  ye  don't  git 
much  huntin'  naowadays.  Tew  late  fer  huntin'  foxes 
an'  tew  much  bare  graound  fer  trackin'  'coons.  Git  a 
patridge  onct  'n  a  while,  though,  I  s'pose,  don't  ye  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Sam,  with  emphasis  ;  "  haint't  shot  a 
patridge  in  a  month.  I  want  the'  should  be  some  next 
year.  I  killed  a  fisher,  though,  t'other  day." 

"I  wanter  know!  Shoot  him?  'Tain't  often  't  a 
feller  gits  a  chance  tu  shoot  one  o'  them  critters.  Awfle 
hard  tu  git  a  shot  at,  they  be,  I  s'pose  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  hard  tu  kill  when  ye  du  git  a  shot  at  'em. 
Drive  treed  this  one,  an'  he  went  a-skivin'  through  the 
tree-tops  baout  as  spry  's  a  squirrel.  1  let  'im  hev  it  on 
the  run — hed  in  buckshot  an'  three  Bs — an'  disenabled 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  155 

him  so  's  't  he  couldn't  jump  ;  but  I  hed  tu  shoot  him 
twict  more  'fore  he  come  daown,  an'  then  hommered  his 
head  a  spell  'fore  he'd  quit  a  kickin'.  Then  I  tied  his 
hind  laigs  together  an*  slung  him  on  my  back  an'  started 
fer  hum." 

"  Wha'd  ye  wanter  lug  his  carkiss  for  ?  Why  didn't  ye 
skin  'im  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I — ah,"  said  Sam,  stammering  and  blushing, 
"  I  wanted  tu  show  him  tu— tu—  some  o'  my  folks  'at 
hedn't  never  seen  the  hull  critter  ;  nothin'  but  the  skins." 

"  H-m.  Some  o'  my  folkses'  names  begins  with 
H-u-1  d-y  P-u-r— " 

"  'N'  'si  was  a-tellin'  on  ye,"  Sam  broke  in  hurriedly, 
"  I  hed  him  on  my  shoulder  slung  ont'  my  gun  berril,  an' 
hed  kerried  him  much  's  half  a  mild,  an'  goin'  'long 
through  some  little  thick  secont  growth,  suthin'  ketched 
an'  most  pulled  the  gun  off  'm  my  shoulder,  and  I'll  be 
shot  if  't  wa'n't  that  'ere  cussed  fisher  come  tu  agin  an' 
ketchin'  holt  of  a  saplin'  wi'  one  of  his  fore  paws  !" 

"  Wai,  I  say  fer  't,"  said  Solon,  "  be  they  so  termina 
tions  o'  life  as  that?" 

"  What  for  you  ant  tole  him  he  dead,  Sam  ?  Dat  all 
what  was  de  matter  wid  it,  he  ant  know  when  he  dead  !" 

"  Wai,  I  hed  tu  go  tu  work  an'  kill  him  agin,  an'  then 
I  made  aout  tu  git  him  hum  'thaout  any  more  of  his 
fluruppin'  raound." 

"  I  hain't  never  hed  no  chance  o'  studdyin'  the  nat'ral 
hist 'ry  on  'em,"  Solon  observed,  "but  from  what  I've 
larnt  'oraclar,  I  jedge  the  name  of  fisher  an'  black  cat 
don't  no  ways  imply  tu  'em.  They  don't  ketch  fish,  an' 
consequentially  they  hain't  fishers,  an'  though  they  be  tol- 
1'able  black,  they  don't  resemblance  the  cat  speshy  no 


154  UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP. 

more  'n  nothin'  in  the  world.  Hain't  I  right,  Sammy- 
well?" 

"  Sartinly  you  be,"  said  Sam.  "  They  don't  never 
ketch  fish — as  I  knows  on — as  mink  an'  auter  does,  but 
lives  on  squirrels  an'  mice  an'  birds  an'  rabbits,  an'  stealin' 
bait  aouten  saple  traps  ;  they're  the  beaters  fer  that.  An' 
excep'  fer  their  handiness  in  climbin'  an'  their  hardness  in 
dyin'  the'  hain't  no  cat  abaout  'em.  They're  a  over- 
growed  weasel  or  saple. ' ' 

"They're  putty  scase  nowerdays,"  Lisha  said,  "do' 
know  's  they  ever  was  plenty.  Saple  's  gittin'  scase  tew, 
but  twenty,  thirty  year  ago  they  was  thicker  'n  spatter. 
A  man  'at  onderstood  it  c'  Id  make  his  dollar  a  day  easy 
trappin'  on  'em.  Ol'  Uncle  Steve  Hamlin  uster  hev  his 
lines  o'  saple  traps  sot  fer  milds  through  the  woods  every 
fall,  clear' n  tu  the  foot  o'  the  Hump  sometimes.  Every 
little  ways  he'd  hev  a  steel  trap  sot  fer  fisher  that  come 
along  stealin'  the  bait  aouten  his  deadfalls,  an'  he'd  git 
consid'able  many  on  'em  every  year.  But  game  's  a-git- 
tin'  scaser  'n'  scaser.  Sam  will/'  he  resumed,  after  some 
moments  of  meditative  smoking,  "  if  I  luffted  tu  hunt  an' 
fish  as  well  as  you  du,  I'd  go  daown  tu  the  lake  some  fall 
'  long  baout  the  fust  o'  September,  tu  Leetle  Auter  Crik,  an' 
hunt  ducks  an'  ketch  pick'ril." 

"  I  s'pose  it's  a  turrible  place  for  ducks,"  Sam  said. 

"  Ducks  !"  cried  Lisha  ;  "  good  airth  an'  seas  !  I  sh'ld 
think  it  was  !  Why,  when  I  uster  be  daown  that  way  a-whip- 
pin'  the  cat — an'  I  was  a  consid'arble  sight  ten  year  ago — 
they  was  thicker  in  the  ma'shes — wild  oats  grows  there,  ye 
know — thicker  in  the  fall  'n  ever  ye  seen  skeeters  in  a 
swamp  in  July.  An'  the  's  Gret  Auter  an'  Dead  Crik  jes' 
as  full  !  The'  's  a  lawyer  daown  there  name  o'  Pairpint 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  155 

uster  go  a-shootin'  on  'em,  with  a  feller  tu  paddle  his  boat, 
'n'  he'd  git  a  heapin'  bushil  baskit  full  on  'em  in  a  day  ! 
'N'  they  said  't  he  shot  all  on  'em  a-flyin'  !  Never  shot 
none  on  'em  a  sittin'  !" 

"  Like  anough,"  Sam  assented  ;  "I've  hearntell  o'  folks 
'at  shot  patridges  a-flyin',  but  I  never  was  bleeged  tu.  I 
c'ld  allers  git  shots  at  'em  a-sittin'." 

"  An'  pickril  !"  continued  Lisha,  "  I  never  seen  the  beat 
on  'em.  I  uster  go  trollin'  arter  'em  wi'  some  on  'em, 
'n'  we'd  hev  each  on  us  a  big  hook  with  a  pork  rind  an'  a 
piece  o*  red  flannel  on  't  fer  bait,  an'  a  toll' able  long  line 
an'  a  short  pole,  'n'  we'd  paddle  'long  kinder  easy  on 
the  aidge  o'  the  channel,  an'  I  tell  ye  we'd  yarn  'em  aout ! 
Ol'  sollakers,  tew;  four,  five,  six  paounds,  an'  one  't  I 
seen  weighed  ten  paound  'n'  a  half." 

"  By  gol  !"  exclaimed  Pelatiah,  wide-eyed  and  wide- 
mouthed  with  wonder,  "  ten  paoun'  an'  a  half?  He  must 
ha'  ben  mos'  's  big  as  one  o'  them  'ere  whale  fish  't  they 
git  lamp  ile  aouten  on  !" 

"  An'  mushrats,"  said  Lisha,  continuing  the  relation 
of  the  wonders  of  the  lowlands,  "  I've  seen  their  haousen 
on  the  ma'shes  in  fall  an'  winter  thick  as  ever  ye  seen  hay 
cocks  in  a  medder,  'most,  an'  hundreds  of  acres  o'  ma'sh 
with  'em  sot  jes'  so  thick.  The'  was  Benham  an'  'mongst 
'em  uster  git  as  high  as  three  hundred  mushrat  apiece, 
most  every  spring.  These  'ere  teamsters  'at  hauls  ore  up 
here  tu  the  forge  says  'at  ducks  an'  mushrat  an'  fish  is  jes' 
as  thick  there  naow.  That  'ould  be  the  place  fer  ye, 
Samwill  !  Ducks  an'  fish  fer  fun,  an'  mushrat  fer 
profit." 

"  Probly  dey  bullpawt  an'  eel  dah,  ant  it,  One'  Lasha  ? 
Ah  wish  Ah  be  dah  too,  me  ! ' ' 


156  UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP. 

"  Eels  !  I  guess  the'  is.  Why,  Ann  Twine,  you  c'ld 
ketch  as  many  o'  the  dum'd  snakes  in  a  night  as  you  c'Ll 
eat  the  nex'  day,  an'  that  's  a-puttin'  on  it  high.  Yes, 
an'  the'  's  pike  an'  bass,  an'  a  gret  fish  'at's  got  a  bill  like 
a  shellduck,  on'y  longer,  but  they  hain't  good  fernothin'. 
An'  the'  's  sheepheads  an'  shad,  'n'  more  pa'ch  an' 
punkinseeds  'n'  you  could  shake  a  stick  at  in  a  fortnight, 
but  nobody  don't  make  no  caount  o'  them,  on'y  boys 
fer  the  fun  o'  ketchin'  on  'em.  An'  the'  's  bowfins  an' 
suckers  'n'  I  d'know  what  all.  They  hes  gret  times  a- 
shootin'  pickril  airly  in  the  spring,  an'  a-spearin'  on  'em, 
tew." 

"  Wai,  sah,  One*  Lasha,  Ah  can  shoot  it  dat  moosrat 
wid  spear  in  winter  w'en  he'll  live  inhaouse." 

"  Ketch  mushrat  with  a  spear  !  Oh,  nao\v  you  go  tu 
grass,  Ann  Twine.  You'd  ort  tu  hed  a  spear  tu  git  them 
'ere  'coons. " 

"  You  ant  b'lieve  it  dat  ?  You  as'  Injin  if  he  ant  git  it 
moosrat  dat  way.  Bah  gosh  !  Yas  !  W'en  ice  all  be 
frozed  up,  have  it  spear  gat  on'y  but  one  laig  baout  so 
long  as  two  foot,  ver'  sharp,  wid  toof  on  him  an'  woodle 
handlin'  tree  foot,  four  foot  prob'ly  long.  Den  walk 
slow,  slow,  ant  mak  it  no  nowse,  to  moosrat  haouse. 
Den  push  him  dat  spear  in  quick  !  hard  !  raght  in  middly 
of  it.  You  feel  it  spear  shake,  you  gat  dat  moosrat,  mebby 
one  of  it,  two  of  it,  sometam  three  of  it,  prob'ly.  Den 
chawp  in  wid  axe,  tek  it  off,  go  nudder  one  jus'  de  same. 
Sometam  git  feefty,  seexty  all  day." 

"Wai,  I  do'  know  but  what  ye  hain't  a-lyin'  fer  onct, 
Ann  Twine  ;  it  saounds  kinder  reas'nable.  You  want 
tu  git  ye  thirty  forty  traps,  Samwill,  an'  go  daovvn  there 
with  Ann  Twine  an'  his  spear.  Then  ya'd  hev  a  French 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  157 

cook  an'  live  high  duck,  pea  soup,  an'  roast  mushrat 
three  times  a  day." 

"  Bah  gosh  !  One'  Lasha,  you  ant  steek  you  nose  up 
dat  moosrat  !  He  pooty  good  for  eat,  Ah  tole  you  ! ' ' 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  anybody  't  eats  snakes  needn't  spleen  agin 
rats,  sartin.' ' 

"  Oh,  One'  Lasha,"  said  the  Canadian  reproachfully, 
"  eel  don't  snake,  more  as  you  was  mud  turkey." 

"If  I  hed  me  a  boat  an'  traps  anough, "  Sam  said, 
after  some  silent  and  thoughtful  smoking,  "I'd  jes'  like 
tu  go  daown  there  a-trappin'  an'  huntin'  an'  fishin'.  An' 
then,  arter  I  got  a  good  shanty  built,  an'  well  tu  goin', 
hev  all  on  ye  come  daown  a-visitinV 

"  You  jes'  du  it  an'  see  'f  we  don't,  hey,  boys  ?"  And 
there  was  general  assent.  "  Yes,  Sam  will,  we'll  tackle  up 
a  two-hoss  waggin  an'  all  go.  We'll  go  tuckernuck,  kerry 
aour  own  pervision  ;  on'y  mushrat  an'  fish  we'll  expeck 
you  tu  furnish,  Samwill.  Wai,"  Lisha  continued,  hoist 
ing  out  his  porringer  of  a  watch  and  consulting  it  by  the 
waning  firelight,  "  it's  a-gittin'  late.  Why,  good  airth 
an'  seas  !  if  't  ain't  mos'  nine  o'clock  !  Peltier,  'f  you've 
got  that  'ere  kittle  licked  aout,  you  c'n  slick  up  a  little 
raound,  an'  we'll  go  hum.  No  need  o'  bilin'  tu-night,  the' 
hain't  sap  'nough  in  the  store  trough  tu  draound  a  chip 
munk.  Git  the  baskit  an'  Jurushy's  bowl  an'  come 
along." 

Then  they  filed  out  of  the  sugar  camp  on  their  home 
ward  way,  while  far  above  them  in  the  black  growth  of  the 
mountain-side  the  hoot  of  an  owl  and  the  gasping  bark  of 
a  fox  voiced  the  solemnity  and  wildness  of  the  ancient 
woods. 


XVlll. 

I 

INDIANS   IN   DANVIS. 

IT  was  fairly  spring  ;  almost  summer  as  the  months  go. 
Some  patches  and  jagged  lines  of  snow  yet  gleamed  among 
the  black  growth  on  the  northward  steeps  and  in  the  gullies 
of  the  mountains,  but  the  lower  deciduous  trees  were  in  a 
green  mist  of  young  leaves,  the  woodside  shade  was  dap 
pled  with  the  white  moose -flowers,  and  the  grass  was  green 
in  the  valley  fields.  The  evenings  had  grown  so  short 
that  to  make  anything  of  a  visit  before  bedtime,  Lisha's 
friends  were  obliged  to  come  while  daylight  lasted.  By 
that  light,  when  the  hylas  were  beginning  to  ring  their 
shrill  curfew,  the  old  man  was  mitigating  some  customer's 
prospective  torture  by  rasping  the  pegs  on  the  inside  of  a 
boot,  but  to  see  the  contortions  of  his  face,  turned  aside  as 
he  bent  over  his  hidden  field  of  labor,  one  would  think 
that  he  was  inflicting  self-torture,  and  that  every  scrape  of 
the  float  was  tearing  the  shoemaker's  own  tough  hide. 
He  made  such  a  noise  with  his  rasping  that  he  first  became 
aware  of  visitors  when  the  forms  of  Joe  Hill  and  Antoine 
darkened  the  open  doorway.  Then  came  Pelatiah  and 
the  Questioner,  followed  by  Solon  Briggs,  and  last  of  all 
Sam  Lovel  came  across  lots  from  Beaver  Meadow  Brook, 
bringing  a  dozen  fine  trout  strung  upon  a  birchen  twig. 

"Wai,   Samwill,   ben    a-traoutin',    hey?"    said    Lisha, 
emptying  the  scrapings  out  of  the  boot,  and  making  an 


UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP.  159 

examination  of  the  interior  with  his  hand  while  he  looked 
admiringly  on  the  handsome  fish.  "  Wai,  they're  neat 
ones,  I  swan  !  Ketched  'em  in  Beav'  Medder  Brook,  did 
ye  ?"  Yes,  Sam  caught  them  there.  "  Wai,  they  du  say 
't  fishin'  's  oncommon  good  this  year  ;  most  everybody  't 
goes  gits  a  good  string  on  'em.  Oh,  dear  me  suz  !  'n'  I 
hain't  ben  yit,  nor  tasted  no  fish  but  salt  ones  sen  last 
summer." 

"  Bah  gosh  !  Ah  wish  Ah  ketch  some  bullpout  or  eel, 
bose  of  it,  Ah  don'  care  which,  me,"  cried  Antoine. 

"  Wai,  Uncle  Lisher,  you  sha'n't  say  that  tu-morrer 
night,"  said  Sam,  seating  himself  on  the  cold  stove  and 
filling  his  pipe,  "  fer  I'm  goin'  tu  take  these  in  tu  Aunt 
Jerushy,  an'  you  c'n  hev  your  sheer  on  'em  fer  breakfus'. 
Ben  tu  supper,  I  s'pose  ?" 

"  Why,  Samwill,  I'm  a  thaousan'  times  'bleeged  tu  ye, 
but  you'd  orter  keep  half  on  'em.  You're  a-robbin'  yer- 
self." 

No,  Sam  was  "  cl'yed  wi'  traout,  an'  ketched  these  a 
puppus  fer  Aunt  Jerushy  'n'  you.  " 

"  Wai,  thank  ye  a  thaousan'  times.  Yes,  I  ben  tu  sup 
per.  I  was  makin'  gardin  tu-day,  an'  the  smell  o'  the 
airth  made  me  hungrier  'n  a  bear,  so  Jerushy  got  supper 
airly." 

"  Yes,  Lisher,"  Solon  remarked,  "  for  a  pusson  of  your 
sedimentary  ockypations  the'  hain't  nothin'  more  benefi- 
cient  'an  a-gittin'  aou'door ;"  and  then,  turning  to  Sam, 
' '  Did  ye  ever  ketch  traout  with  a  fly,  Sammywell  ?' ' 

"  No,  I  didn't  never,  but  I  hev  wi'  bumble-bees." 

"Not  a  ra-al  fly  I  don't  mean,"  Solon  explained. 
"  That  'ere  artist  feller  't  was  raound  here  summer  'fore 
last— boarded  to  Joel  Bartlett's  a  spell,  'n'  fixed  up 


160  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

a  paintin'  shop  in  his  barn — '  stewed  Joe, '  he  called  it — 
he  uster  go  traoutin'  with  a  whipstock  of  a  pole  'at  took 
tu  pieces,  an'  hed  a  little  brass  windlass  onto  it  tu  wind 
up  his  line,  an'  a  mess  o'  feathers  stuck  on  a  hook  for 
bait,  'at  he  called  a  arterfishual  fly.  He'd  skitter  it  top 
of  the  water,  an'  onct  in  a  while  the'  'd  be  a  traout  fool 
'nough  tu  grab  it.  Then  he'd  wind  'im  up,  an'  then 
he'd  let  'im  scoot,  'n'  then  wind  'im  up  agin,  an'  so 
continner  on  till  he  got  'im  all  fattygued  aout. " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  seen  'im  at  it  !"  said  Sarn.  "  I  went 
a-fishin'  with  'im  tew  three  times.  'N'  he  was  toll' able 
lucky,  tew  ;  ketched  half  as  many  's  I  did.  He'd  tost 
them  little  feather  contraptions  tumble  handy  when  the 
brush  wa' n't  tew  thick.  I  sh'ld  like  tu  try  it  if  I  hed  the  rig. 
He  hed  a  hull  wallet  full  on  'em,  all  on  'em  named, 
*  green  ducks,'  an'  '  hatchels,'  an'  I  d'  know  what  all.  It 
uster  tickle  me  tu  see  him  when  he  come  tu  a  still  pond 
hole,  or  a  place  where  the  brook  tumbled  over  the  rocks, 
or  suthin'  n'uther  'the  liked  the  looks  on.  He'd  lay 
daown  his  pole,  an'  back  off,  an'  get  fust  one  side  o'  the 
brook  an'  then  t'other,  or  like  'nough  on  a  stun  right  in 
the  middle  on  't,  an'  then  aout  with  a  lead-pencil  an'  a 
little  blank  'caount  book  like,  'n'  begin  tu  draw  it  off. 
He'd  squint  an'  mark  an'  whistle  an'  mark  a  spell,  'n' 
then  intu  his  pocket  with  book  an'  pencil  an'  go  tu  rishin' 
agin.  A  clever  little  creetur  he  was,  an'  took  lots  o'  com 
fort  bein'  in  the  woods,  an'  a-fishin'.  He  tol'  me  'at  they 
ketched  gret  big  salmon  up  Canady  way  wi'  them  feather 
flies." 

"  Bah  gosh  I"  cried  Antoine,  pricking  up  his  ears  at 
the  mention  of  his  native  province.  '  Yas,  Ah' 11  see 
Anglish  officy  ketch  dat  so  !  Oh,  big,  big,  big  !" 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  161 

"  Oh,  yes,  sartinly,"  said  Lisha,  as  he  tied  the  straps  of 
the  completed  boots  together  with  a  thong  of  leather,  "  I 
'xpected  you  hed.  Seen  'em  ketched  't  'ould  weigh  a 
hunderd  paound,  hain't  ye,  Ann  Twine?" 

"  Wai,  sah,  One'  Lasha,  not  quat  so  big  dat.  Ah  don' 
goin'  tol'  lie  'f  you  want  it  Ah  do.  De  bigges'  one  Ah' 11 
see  ketch  dat  way  he'll  weigh  jes'  'zackly  nanty-nan  paoun' 
an'  fiftin  ninches,  dat's  all." 

"  Hmph  !  A  minny,  wa'n't  he  ?"  said  Lisha.  "  Wai, 
we're  gittin'  all  of  a  color,  white  folks  an'  Canucks,  'n'  I 
guess  we'd  better  hev  a  light,"  whereupon  he  lit  the 
candle,  which  sputtered  for  some  minutes  before  it  made 
itself  visible  in  the  twilight. 

"  Wai,  folks,"  said  Sam,  breaking  the  silence  that  pre 
vailed  while  the  company  watched  the  struggles  of  the 
feeble  light,  "  the's  suthin'  in  these  woods  'at  I  never 
seen  in  'em  afore." 

"Why,  what  on  airth  is  it,  Samwill  ?"  Lisha  asked. 
"  'Tain't  a  wolf,  'cause  you  seen  one  time  o'  the  big 
hunt  four  year  ago.  'Tain't  a  painter  ?" 

"  No,  'tain't  a  wolf  nor  a  painter — I  seen  both — 'n* 
'tain't  no  four-legged  critter— it's  Injins  !" 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  you  don't  say  so  !"  cried  Lisha  ; 
"  hev  ye  got  the'  skelps  in  yer  pockit,  Samwill  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Sam,  laughing  ;  "  they've  got  'em  on  their 
heads,  an'  hats  a  top  on 'em,  tew,  for  they  hain't  wild  ones, 
but  c'n  talk  English  as  well  as  Antwine  here,  but  not  ekal 
to  Solon  quite.  Raal  clever,  candid  sort  o'  fellers  they  be, 
an'  c'nsid'able  sosherble  arter  you  git  'quainted  with 
'em." 

"  Haow  many  on  'em  be  they  ?  A  hull  tribe  on  'em  ? 
He  ones  an'  she  ones,  an'  poppooses  on  boards  ?  Where 


1 62  UKCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

be  they,  an'  what  they  drivin'  at  ?"  So  Lisha  strung  out  his 
questions  without  waiting  for  an  answer  till  he  finished 
with  the  demand,  **  Tell  us  all  baout  'em." 

"  Wai/'  said  Sam,  **  tu  begin  't  the  beginnin'.  I  was 
fishin'  Beav'  Medder  Brook  't  other  day  an'  come  acrost 
a  mockersin  track  in  the  sand,  V  thinks  says  I  to  myself, 
Antwine's  a-fishin'  ahead  on  me,  'n'  then  thinks  says  I, 
he  don't  wear  'em  sen  he  got  tu  be  sech  a  Yankee  ;  'n'  a 
little  furder  long  I  seen  tracks  o'  tew  wearin'  mockersins, 
an'  putty  soon  I  smelt  smoke,  an'  then  come  slap  on  tu 
tew  dark-complected  fellers  settin'  by  a  fire  a-smokin'  an' 
watchin'  a  woo'chuck  roastin'  on  a  stick  stuck  through 
endways  an'  int'  the  graound,  an'  behind  of  'em  was  a 
gret  roll  o'  suthin'  't  I  thought  fust  sight  was  luther,  'n'  't 
they'd  ben  a-stealin'  from  you,  er  less  was  goin'  to  give  ye 
a  job.  Then  I  seen  't  was  birch  bark.  I  says  haow  de 
du,  'n'  so  'd  they,  but  they  didn't  talk  none  till  I  sod- 
daown  an'  loaded  my  pipe  an'  giv'  'em  some  terbarker. 
Then  one  on  'em  says,  '  Ketch  um  plenty  fish/  lookin'  at 
my  string,  an'  'twas  a  putty  good  un,  'n'  I  gin  'em  a 
dozen  tu  piece  aout  their  supper.  Then  they  begin  tu  git 
toll'able  sosherble,  an'  we  hed  quite  a  visit." 

"  Wai,  I'll  be  dum'd  1  Sam  will  Lovel  visitin'  'long 
with  Injins  !"  cried  Lisha,  holding  up  his  hands. 

"  Wai,  he  was,"  said  Sam,  "  an'  got  c'nsid'able  thick 
with  'em,  'n'  I  don't  deny  it.  They  said  haow  't  they  'd 
come  clearn  up  from  Gret  Auter  Crik  on  tu  Hawg's  Back 
tu  git  bark  'at  suited  'em  tu  make  a  canew,  an'  was  goin' 
right  back  nex'  day.  I  wanted  turribly  tu  see  'em  make 
a  canew,  'n'  tried  tu  coax  'em  to  du  it  here,  'n'  I'd  git 
some  o'  the  teamsters  tu  kerry  it  daown  tu  Vergeens  for 
'em  when  they  was  goin'.  But  they  thought  their  fam- 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  163 

'lies  'at  was  camped  daown  there  would  be  wonderin'  if 
they  stayed  away  so  long.  I  tol'  'em  't  we'd  send  word 
by  the  teamsters  tu  their  folks,  'n'  it  come  inter  my  head 
what  you  was  tellin'  'baout  huntin'  an'  trappin'  daown 
there,  'n'  't  this  was  a  gret  chance  fer  me  tu  git  a  boat 
made.  So  I  dickered  with  'em  tu  make  me  a  canew,  an' 
they  talked  an'  talked  together — I  tell  ye,  their' n  's  the 
language  tu  talk  in  the  woods.  It  don't  make  no  more 
noise  'n  a  little  brook  a-runnin',  'n'  I  don't  b'lieve  't 
'ould  skeer  a  fox.  Wai,  fin'ly  they  'greed  tu,  an'  nex' 
day  they  went  at  my  canew." 

"  Shaw  !''  said  Lisha.  "  Why,  Samwill,  them  Injin 
canews  is  tottlisher  'n  a  board  sot  up  aidgeways  !  You 
can't  du  nothin'  in  one  on  'em,  only  tip  over.  You 
hain't  uster  no  kinder  boat,  say  nothin'  baout  them  aig- 
shell  consarns.  '  D  ye  ever  see  one  ?  I  hev,  but  never 
ondertook  ridin'  one  on  'em." 

"  No,  I  never  did,  but  I'm  goin'  tu  in  a  few  days.  I 
guess  I  c'n  navvygate  it.  I've  crossed  the  Notch  Pond 
stan' in'  up  on  a  saw  lawg  with  my  gun,  more  'n  onct,  'n'- 
I  guess  a  canew  hain't  much  tottlisher  'n  a  rollin'  lawg. 
Wai,  I've  hed  a  good  time  watchin'  on  'em  make  it  fer 
three  days,  'n'  I  tell  ye  it's  curous  tu  see  'em.  Furst 
thing  they  made  a  frame  the  len'th  an'  shape  the  canew  's 
goin'  tu  be  on  top — jes  tew  strips  of  ash  fastened  together 
tu  the  ends,  an'  bars  acrost,  so" — illustrating  his  descrip 
tion  with  a  diagram  drawn  on  the  floor  with  a  bit  of  coal 
while  all  gathered  about  him.  "  Then  they  laid  it  daown 
on  a  level  place  they'd  fixed  an'  drove  stakes  clus  tu  it 
agin  the  ends  o'  the  cross-bars  all  raound,  an'  one  tu 
each  end  o'  the  frame.  Then  they  pulled  up  the  stakes 
an'  took  the  frame  away,  keepin'  the  stake-holes  clear  o' 


1 64  UNCLE  LISIIA'S   SHOP. 

dirt  very  car'f'l,  an*  spread  the  bark  daown  on  the  place, 
an'  then  sot  the  frame  back  on  jes'  ezackly  where  it  was 
f;fore,  an'  put  some  cedar  strips  on  't,  an'  big  stuns  top 
o'  them.  Then  they  slit  the  bark  from  the  aidge  up  tu 
the  frame  every  onct  in  a  little  ways,  so,  all  raound,  an' 
bent  up  the  bark  an'  sot  the  stakes  back  in  the  holes,  an' 
tied  a  bark  cord  acrost  from  top  to  top.  Then  they  sewed 
up  the  slits,  lappin'  the  bark  over,  ye  see,  an'  sewin'  it 
wi'  black  spruce  ruts  peeled  an'  split  in  tew,  'n'  they're 
jest  as  tough  as  rawhide;  luther-wood  bark  hain't  no 
tougher.  That's  as  fur  as  they've  got  jit,  but  nex'  thing, 
's  nigh  's  I  c'n  make  aout,  they  cal'late  tu  raise  the  frame 
tu  the  top  an'  put  some  raves  on  aoutside  and  fasten  'em 
together  an'  then  line  the  hull  consarn  wi'  flat  strips  o' 
cedar  drove  in  tight.  'N'  then  when  they  git  the  searns 
all  daubed  wi'  spruce  gum  an'  taller  melted  together  it'll 
be  all  ready  fer  me  tu — "  "  tip  over."  said  Lisha,  com 
pleting  the  sentence  for  him. 

"  Waal,  now,  I  guess  not,"  Sam  drawled,  "  but  baout 
the  fust  o'  nex'  week  you  c'n  all  come  over  tu  the  Forge 
Pond  an'  see." 

ic  Wai,  sah,  Sam,  Ah  tol'  you,"  said  Antoine,  "  you 
wan'  git  good  big  lawg,  an'  Ah' 11  mek  it  you  a  canoe  was 
good  for  sornelings,  me.  Dat  was  damn  sight  gre'  deal 
better  for  you  as  dat  negg-shell  Injin  mek  it. " 

Lisha  snorted  a  contemptuous  "  Hmph  !  'T  would  be  a 
putty-lookin'  thing,  Ann  Twine.  Guess  't  'ould  look  's 
much  like  a  stun  boat 's  anything.  But 't 'ould  becomp'ny 
for  ye,  Samwill,  fer  I  ha'  noTiaoubt '  t '  ould  laugh  and  talk. ' ' 

"  Wai,  sah,  he  look  lak  stun  boat,  he  look  goo'  deal 
lak  de  boot  you  mek  it,  One'  Lasha.  Den  prob'ly  you 
call  it  ver'  han'some,  don't  it?" 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  165 

"  Oh,  shet  up,  you — "  cried  Lisha,  shaking  his  ham 
mer  at  the  giinning  Canadian.  "I  could  make  a  gre't 
sight  better  boat  aouten  luther  'n  you  can  aouten  wood, 
I'll  bate  ye.  I've  hearn  tell  't  the  Injins  way  aout  West 
makes  boats  aouten  luther,  er  bufflo  hides  anyway." 

"  Uncle  Lisher,"  said  Joe  Hill  suddenly,  "  is  the'  any 
thing  o'  this  story  't  I  hearn  'em  talkin'  over  't  the  store 
t'other  day  ?  Lemme  see,  was  't  Wednesday  or  Thursday- 
las'  week,  or  was  't  Friday?  Yes,  'twas  Friday,  I  know, 
'cause  M'ri  sent  by  me  fer  a  codfish,  an'  they  hedn't  got 
none,  'n'  so  we  didn't  hev'  none  fer  dinner  Sat'day,  'n' 
hed  t'  eat  traout.  Wai,  they  was  tellin',  some  on  'em, 
haovv  'tyou  was  a-talkin'  o'  sellin'  aout  'n'  goin'  t'  the 
'Hio." 

"  Hey  ?' '  cried  Lisha,  giving  a  great  start.  "  Oh,  sho  ! 
Ye  can't  tell  nothin'  by  what  ye  hear  over  tu  that  'ere 
dum'd  store.  When  they  hain't  talkin'  baout  hosses,  'n' 
when  they  be,  they're  a-lyin'  an'  gossipin'  wus  'n  a 
passel  o'  women  tu  a  quiltin'." 

"One'  Lasha,  if  you  goin'  on  'Hio,  Ah  wan'  you 
show  me  de  way  Ah' 11  fin'  dat  Conchety  Pint  you  tol' 
me  good  whal  'go.  Ah '11  wan'  go  dar  den." 

"  When  yer  time  comes  you'll  go  there,  Ann  Twine, 
'thaout  me  showin',  jest  the  same  as  spirits  finds  their  way 
tu  heaven  an'  t'other  place.  Say,  Sam  will,  where  d'  ye 
keep  yer  Injin  show  ?  Der  ye  'low  anybody  tu  see  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Sam,  ''you  c'n  see  'm  fer  nothin'  ; 
but  I  wouldn't  go  all  tu  onct,  if  I  was  you  fellers.  I  kinder 
guess  they  don' t  like  bein'  gawped  at  no  better  '  n  we  du. 
They're  camped  daown  on  Beav'  Medder  Brook,  a  little 
ways  'bove  the  swamp.  They're  a-makin'  a  few  baskits, 
an'  bow-arrers fer  boys,  evenin's,  an'  most  likely  they'll  be 


1 66  UNCLE   LfS/fA'S  SHOP. 

raound  peddlin'  on  'em  'fore  long."  Then,  going  over 
to  light  his  pipe  at  the  candle,  he  whispered,  "  I'll  come 
over  in  the  mornin',  an'  you  'n'  I'll  go  an'  see  'em,  if 
you're  a  min'  tu."  Then  aloud,  "  Wai,  boys,  I'm 
a  goin'  hum.  Any  on  ye  wanter  ride  'long  vvi'  me  ?" 

Sam's  invitation  was  at  once  accepted  by  all  the  visitors, 
who  departed  with  him,  each  riding  as  he  did,  *'  shanks' 
horses  ;"  and  the  shop  was  left  in  darkness  again. 


XIX. 

THE   BOY   OUT   WEST. 

THE  prophet  of  the  almanac  had  written  along  the  June 
calendar,  "Now,  perhaps,  a  spell  of  weather,"  and  his 
prognostication  was  being  verified.  For  two  dajs  the  rain 
had  come  down  from  the  leaden  sky,  now  in  drenching 
showers,  now  in  drizzles  slanting  to  the  earth  before  the 
gusty  north  east  wind,  and  still  it  came  down.  A  robin 
in  the  apple-tree  where  his  mate  shingled  their  nest  with 
her  half-spread  wings  only  left  off  "  singing  for  rain"  to 
preen  his  wet  feathers,  and  then  began  again  his  broken 
song,  cheerful  enough  but  for  its  import  to  seem  unsuited 
to  its  accompaniment,  the  splash  of  the  rain,  the  doleful 
sighing  of  the  wind,  and  the  sullen  roar  of  the  swollen 
streams.  The  beaten-down  blossoms  that  whitened  the 
ground  beneath  the  apple-trees,  as  if  an  unseasonable 
flurry  of  snow  had  fallen  there,  looked  unlike  blossoms 
now,  but  added  another  dreary  feature  to  the  dreary  land 
scape  ;  the  little  brown  house,  without  light  or  shadow  on 
its  walls  ;  the  dripping,  wind-swayed  trees  ;  the  sodden 
fields  and  woods  ghostly  behind  the  gray  veil  of  rain, 
bounded  by  the  blurred,  flat  wall  of  mountains,  and  roofed 
by  the  low  sky. 

When  some  of  Lisha's  friends,  troubled  by  a  vague 
rumor  that  had  floated  about  the  valley,  visited  the  shop 
that  day,  they  found  it  as  cheerless  inside  as  out,  chilly, 


1 68  UNCLE   LISffA'S   SHOP. 

damp,  and  fireless,  and  unoccupied  by  its  owner,  whose 
apron  lay  upon  the  shoe-bench.  Sam  Lovel  seated  him 
self  there,  and  when  presently  Lisha  entered  from  the 
"  house  part/'  and  he  arose  to  give  him  his  accustomed 
seat,  the  old  man  said,  "  Keep  your  settin',  Sam  will  ;  I 
hain't  workin'  none  tu-day,"  and  after  pottering  in  an 
aimless  way  among  his  stock  and  tools,  set  about  lighting 
a  fire.  After  repeated  clearing  of  his  throat,  wherein  the 
words  seemed  to  stick,  he  said  as  he  whittled  the  kindling, 
"  Wai,  boys,  where  ye  goin'  tu  loaf  evenin's  next  winter?" 

"  Why,  right  here,  of  course,  Uncle  Lisher,"  said  Sam  ; 
"  you  hain't  goin'  tu  turn  us  aout'door,  be  ye  ?" 

"No,  I  hain't  a-goin'  tu  turn  you  aou'door  ;  I'm 
a  goin'  tu  turn  myself  aou'door.  The  fact  o'  the  business 
is,  Jerushy  'n'  I  has  baout  made  up  aour  minds  tu  go 
aout  West  an'  live  'long  wi'  George." 

"  Wai,  we  heard  some  such  talk,"  Sam  said,  "  but  we 
didn't  scasely  b'lieve  the'  was  nothin'  on  it  only  talk,  the'  's 
so  much  dum'd  foolish  gab  a-goin'  nowerdays.  An',"  he 
added,  "  I  hain't  heard  none  'at  saounded  foolisher  'n 
this,  tu  me. ' ' 

"Wai,  naow,  ye  see,"  said  Lisha,  shutting  the  stove 
door,  and  after  watching  the  fire  a  minute  seating  himself 
upon  a  sap  tub,  "  me  'n'  my  ol'  woman  's  a-geltin'  ol'  'n' 
ont'  the  daown  hill-side,  'n'  't  won't  be  many  year  'fore 
we  can't  du  nothin'  scasely  on'y  set  raound,  'n'  we  hain't 
got  nob'dy  tu  ta'  keer  on  us  then  on'y  aour  boy.  He's 
sol'  aout  in  the  'Hio,  an'  is  goin'  tu  Westconstant  tu  live, 
a  gret  ways  furder  'n  the 'Hio,  tew,  three  States  beyund 
it,  I  b'lieve.  'Tain't  a  State  yit,  I  guess  Westconstant 
hain't,  but  on'y  a  terry-tory.  Seems  'ough  we  couldn't 
stan'  it  tu  hev  him  no  furder  off  'n  what  he  is  naow,  an' 


UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP.  169 

so,  ye  see,  we've  c'ncluded  tu  go  an'  live  'long  wi'  him. 
He  's  ben  a-teasin'  on  us  tu  this  ever  so  long,  but  I  kinder 
hated  tu,  for  I'm  sorter  giowed  in  here,  'n'  I  hate  tu 
naow,  but  I  guess  it's  the  best  way." 

"Wai,  I  guess  'tain't,"  said  Sam,  very  decidedly. 
"You  hev  growed  in,  both  on  ye,  an'  it'll  be  julluk 
pullin'  up  tew  ol'  trees  an'  settm'  on  'em  aout  agin,  'n' 
ye  won't  stan'  it  no  better.  No,  Uncle  Lisher,  not  a  mite 
better  'n  tew  hemlocks  took  up  an'  sot  aout.  It'll  be  a 
diff  ent  s'il  o'  land  for  ye,  diff' ent  breed  o'  neighbors — 'f 
ye  hev  any — 'n'  they  say  't  that  'ere  western  country  's 
flatter  'n  a  pancake,  'thaout  a  maountin  er  a  big  hill  tu  be 
seen,  so  's  't  it  tires  a  feller's  eyesight  clean  aout  a-trav'lin' 
so  fur  'thaout  nothin'  tu  stop  it.  An'  no  woods  like 
aourn,  they  say.  Haow  long  ye  think  ye  can  stan'  it 
'thaout  the  smell  o'  spruce  in  yer  nose,  er  'thaout 
seein'  the  ol'  Hump  er  'Tater  Hill,  er  so  much  as  little 
Hawg's  Back  er  even  Pig's  Back  a-stan'in'  up  agin  the 
sky?" 

'  Yas,  sah,  One'  Lasha,  dat  so,"  Antoine  put  in. 
"  You  was  be  so  lonesick  you  come  dead  raght  off,  bose 
of  it,  An'  Jerrushy,  too,  you  see  'f  he  ant  !" 

"An'  if  ye  don't  die,"  Sam  continued,  "the  dum'd 
Injins  '11  kill  ye." 

"  Sho  !"  said  Lisha,  smiling  grimly  at  Sam.  "  You're 
a  putty  feller,  a-talkin'  baout  dum'd  Injins  arter  bein' 
thicker  'n  puddin'  with  'em  for  a  fortni't,  'n'  they  riggin' 
on  ye  aout  wi'  a  canew  't  you  c'n  navvygate  's  a  musrirat 
can  his  own  body.  Naow,  r'aly,  Samwill, "  he  went  on, 
hoping  to  change  the  subject,  "when  I  seen  ye  gittin' 
into  't  over  there  t'  the  Forge  Pond,  I  didn't  expect 
nothin'  on'y  tu  see  ye  git  a  duckin',  'n'  'f  I  hedn't  a 


1 70  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOT. 

knowed  ye  c'ld  swim   like  a  duck,  I   wouldn't   ha'  let  ye 
git  int'  the  dum'd  crazy  thing/' 

"Oh,  wal,"  said  Sam,  impatiently,  "my  Injins  is 
tame.  I  guess  't  you'll  find  aout  't  them  painted,  turkey- 
feathered  cusses  aout  West  is  a  diff  ent  breed  o*  cats,  with 
their  war-whoopin'  an*  screechin',  an'  skelpin'  ol'  folks 
an'  babies,  'n'  the  Lord  knows  what  the  devil's  own  work 
they  hain't  up  tu." 

"  Sammywell's  argyments   is  good,"  said  Solon  Briggs. 
'  The'  hain't  nothin'  more  sartiner  'n   that  old,  ann-cient 
indyviddywills  hed    ort  tu   continner    tu    remain    in    the 
natyve  land  'at  they  was  borned  in." 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !"  the  old  man  roared,  after  list 
ening  with  ill-concealed  impatience,  "  what's  the  use  o' 
yer  talkin'  ?  I  tell  ye  I'm  a-goin'  'f  I  don't  live  a  week 
arter  I  git  there  !  Hain't  I  tougher  'n  a  ellum  gnurl  ? 
Hain't  I  fit  your  Injins'  gran'thers  tu  Plattsburg  ?  I  c'n 
stan'  the  rackit,  I  guess  !  I  c'n  fight  Injins  agin,  I 
guess  !  H'mph  !  ye  talk  's  if  I  was  a  ten-ye'r-ol'  boy  er 
a  skeery  little  gal  !"  And  then  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
kindlier  tone,  "  I  hate  tu  go,  's  I  said  afore.  1  allus 
luffted  tu  hev  my  neighbors  raound  me,  'n'  'I've  hed 
good  uns.  an'  got  'em  yit,  an'  I  hate  dreffly  tu  leave  'em, 
'n'  hate  tu  leave  the  ol'  place  'n'  everything.  But  blood's 
thicker  'n  water,  'n'  I  wanter  see  my  boy,  the  on'y  chick 
er  child  his  mother  'n'  I's  got,  'n'  eend  my  days  wi'  him. 
An'  his  mother  y'arns  arter  him  more  'n  I  du,  an  — wal, 
we're  a-goin',  an1  the'  ha'  no  tew  ways  baout  it,  ner  no 
use  a-talkin'.  I've  sol'  aout  tu  Joel  Bartlett,  an'  we've 
drawed  wri tin's — an'  that's  the  long  an'  short  on't." 

"  Wal,"  said  Sam,  "  if  you're  sot  on  it,  'n'  everything 
's  all  cut  an'  dried,  the'  ham '  t  no  use  a-talkin'.  But  I 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  171 

sh'ld  think  'tyou  might  ha'  said  suthin'  In  some  onus 
'fore  ye  went  so  fur.  'T  would  ha'  ben  friendlier.  I 
swear  !  I  wish  't  the  dum'd  torment  't  invented  that  ere 
cussed  Western  country  hedn't  never  ben  borned  ! 
A-breakin'  up  fam'lies  an'  puttin'  notions  inter  ol'  folks' s 
heads,  blast  him  !"  and  said  no  more,  but  sat  staring  out 
at  the  gloomy  landscape  that,  seen  through  the  green  and 
wrinkled  panes  of  the  long  window,  looked  gloomier  and 
more  dismal  than  ever. 

They  spoke  no  more  of  Lisha's  intended  departure,  and 
after  a  few  feeble  attempts  at  conversation,  sat  and  smoked 
in  silence  till  the  day  grew  darker  with  the  coming  on  of 
evening,  and  then  the  visitors  departed. 


XX. 

BREAKING   UP. 

THOUGH  Lisha's  friends  continued  their  visits  to  the 
shop,  the  rainy  days  and  the  evenings  spent  there  were 
cheerless  and  gloomy  ever  after  he  declared  his  intention 
of  deserting  it.  The  forced  conversation  and  feeble  at 
tempts  to  awaken  the  old  convivial  spirit  were  so  much 
like  those  at  a  gathering  about  the  bedside  of  one  with 
the  certain  doom  of  death  upon  him,  that  Lisha  said,  one 
afternoon,  when  the  sober  guests  had  departed,  "  Wai, 
mother,  I  wish  't  aour  fun'al  was  over,  an'  we  was  in 
Westconstant.  I'll  be  dum'd  'f  I  hain't  'baout  sick  o' 
bein'  a  live  corpse  !  Good  airth  an'  seas  !  When  the 
boys  comes  up  an'  sets  'raound  lookin'  at  me  so  solemn, 
I  can  een  a' most  feel  the  shoemake  rhuts  a-crawlin' 
raound  my  bones,  's  if  I  was  planted  up  y under  in  the 
ol'  graveyard.  Oh,  dear  me  suz  !  I  wish  't  George  hed 
a'  ben  contented  tu  ha'  stayed  here  !  But  seein'  't  he 
Wa'n't,  the'  don't  seem  's  'ough  the'  was  no  other  way 
V>nly  tu  go.  If  little  Jerushy  'd  ha'  lived,  V  merried 
some  likely  feller,  as  in  course  she  would,  we  might  ha' 
stayed  an'  lived  'long  wi'  her.  But  it  wa'n't  tu  be  so.  I 
do'  know  but  I  feel  'baout  as  bad  a-goin'  off  an'  leavin' 
her  lay  in'  up  there  so  fur  from  us  's  I  du  'baout  anything 
in  the  hull  business.  Poor  little  gal  !  She  was  a-goin' 
tu  look  julluk  you." 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP,  173 

"O  father!"  said  Aunt  Jerushy,  with  a  blush  man 
tling  the  wholesome  old-age  brown  of  her  kindly  face,  as 
she  intently  scanned  her  purple-veined  and  wrinkled 
hands,  "  if  she  was  ever  tu,  I  do'  know  but  it's  best  'at 
she  died  when  she  was  a  baby." 

"  Wai,  naow,  Jerushy  Chase,  I  shouldn't  ha'  wanted 
her  tu  looked  no  better  'n  you  did  when  you  was  a  young 
womern,  nor  no  better  fer  an'  ol'  womern.  Folks  hes 
got  tu  grow  ol'  'f  they  live  long  'nough,  'n'  they  can't 
keep  all  the  looks  no  more'n  they  can  all  the  feelin's  o' 
young  folks." 

Uncle  Lisha  took  a  roundabout  course  on  his  way  to 
the  stove  to  relight  his  pipe,  and  stopped  behind  Aunt 
Jerusha's  chair  a  moment  to  caress  her  gray  head.  The 
sensation  must  have  been  somewhat  as  if  a  mud  turtle  had 
crawled  and  slid  over  it,  but  it  comforted  her  sad  heart  and 
brought  a  gleam  of  the  light  of  youth  into  her  old  eyes. 
When  he  bent  over  and  shyly  kissed  her  cheek,  the  long 
disused  endearment  brought  back  old  courting  days  so 
vividly  that  she  cried,  even  as  she  returned  it — "  Why, 
Lisher  Peggs  !  Hain't  you  'shamed  o'  yerself?"  and 
then  glancing  out  of  the  window,  "  If  there  hain't  Huldy 
Pur'n't'n  !  an'  if  she  seen  ye,  haow  she  will  be  a-laughin' 
at  us  !" 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !"  said  Lisha,  as  in  a  shame 
faced  flurry  he  raked  a  handful  of  coals  onto  the  hearth, 
" 'f  she  hain't  hed  bussin'  'nough  tu  shet  her  maouth 
sen  she  an'  Samwill  made  up,  I  miss  my  guess  !  They've 
made  up  lost  lime,  I  bate  ye  !  Walk  !"  he  shouted  in 
response  to  Huldah's  knock,  and  when  she  entered  Aunt 
Jerusha's  surprise  was  simulated  so  well  that  it  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  lady  of  fashion. 


174  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

"An'  so,"  said  Huldah,  after  the  mutual  inquiries 
concerning  the  respective  families  had  been  made  and  an 
swered,  "  you  an'  Uncle  Lisher  is  r'ally  goin'  tu  pull  up 
stakes  an'  go  t'  the  West  ?  You  do'  know  haow  I  hate 
'tu  hev  ye.  Seems  's  'ough  the'  wa'n't  nob'dy  only  my 
own  folks  'at  seems  so  near  tu  me  's  what  you  du  !" 

"Ta'  keer,  Huldy  !"    Lisha  cried. 

"WaV  said  Huldah,  blushing  as  red  as  the  peonies 
in  the  posy  bed  by  the  doorstep,  "  I  mean — wal,"  with 
a  frank  look  and  a  happy  little  laugh,  "  I  mean  ol'  folka 
near!  The'  hain't  another  place  in  Danvis  where  I  c'n 
go  an'  hev  a  raal  good  sed  daown,  only  jest  here  !  An', 
Uncle  Lisher,  one  little  word  't  you  said  that  day  'at  Sis 
was  lost  tol'  me  suthin'  't  I  didn't  know  afore,  'n'  't  I  was 
feared  wa'n't  so.  'N'  naow  you're  a  goin'  tu  the  end 
o'  the  airth,  'n'  I  sha'n't  see  ye  'gin,  maybe  never  !" 

"  Wal,  naow,  Huldy,"  said  Aunt  Jerusha,  as  she  ab 
stractedly  rapped  her  snuff-box  and  looked  nowhere, 
"  like  'nough  me  an'  Lisher  won't  be  c'ntented  in  West- 
constant,  an'  '11  wanter  come  back.  An'  'f  things  tarve  as 
I'm  a-hopesin'  they  will,  you  an'  Hamwill  '11  be  settled 
daown,  'n'  mebby  you'd  take  us  in." 

"An'  you'd  be  most  welcome  allers,"  said  Huldah. 
"  Seems  's  'ough,"  she  said,  as  over  and  over  again  she 
gathered  in  her  fingeis  and  let  go  the  hem  of  her  check 
ered  apron,  "  'at  the'  wa'n't  nothin'  much  tu  hender 
naow,  sence  Sarmvill  faound  Sis.  Father,  he  was  allers 
kinder  set  agin  him  'cause  he's  allers  a-huntin'  an' 
shoolin'  raound  in  the  woods,  but  ever  sence  he  hunted 
tu  sech  good  purpose  that  day  he  hain't  said  not  one  word 
agin  him.  An'  mother,  she  hain't  never  sot  much  no 
ways.  Seems  's  'ough  the'  wa'n't  nothin'  much  tu  hender 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  175 

naow."  And  as  Huldah  looked  out  of  the  east  window 
of  the  kitchen,  the  hill-tops  were  glorified  by  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun,  all  the  rugged  steeps  were  shining,  and  the 
shadowy  ravines  were  hidden  from  her  gaze  ;  and  so  the 
way  ot  life  shone  before  her,  smooth  and  unshadowed  in 
the  light  of  love. 

When  Gran'  ther  Hill  had  berated  Lisha  and  Jerusha  to 
all  his  heart's  content,  so  obtainable  to  Joseph  and  his 
wife  and  the  hushed  bevy  of  children,  as  "  a  pair  o'  ol' 
idjits  a-goin'  off  beyund  the  reach  o*  all  God's  massies  tu 
the'  own  fun'al,"  he  marched  down  upon  them  one 
pleasant  day  to  the  tune  of  "  The  Road  to  Boston,"  do 
lorous  enough  for  a  dead  march  as  whistled  through  his 
thin  lips,  with  no  supporting  ranks  of  teeth  behind  them. 
When  he  was  established  in  the  arm-chair  that  Jerusha  set 
for  him  after  beating  the  cushion  into  inviting  softness, 
he  cast  a  severe  and  frowning  look  upon  the  couple,  and 
demanded,  marking  each  word  with  a  thump  of  his  cane 
upon  the  floor,"  Wai,  Lisher,  hain't  you  'shamed  o'  yer- 
self,  a-desartin'  of  yer  country  at  your  time  o'  life  ?  I 
never  'd  ha'  thought  it  of  a  man  'at  hed  fout  tu  Platts- 
burg  battle.  But  that  was  in  York  State.  You  wouldn'  t 
ketch  a  man  'at  hed  fout  tu  Hubbar'to'n  an'  Bennin'to'n 
leavin'  Varmaount,  'at  he  'd  fout  for  !  No,  sir  !  Shet 
yer  head,  I  tell  ye!''  as  Lisha  attempted  a  word  in  his 
own  defence.  "  Ye  needn't  tell  me  nothin'  'baout 
George  !  He  might  come  back  here  'f  he  wanted  tu  live 
wi'  ye  so  bad  !  \rarmaount's  good  'nough  place  for  any- 
b'dy  tu  live  in — a  dum'd  sight  tew  good  for  some  folks,  as 
me  'n'  Ethin,  'n'  Seth,  ?n'  Remember,  'n'  'mongst  us 
showed  some  o'  them  'ere  Ian'  jobbers  !  Dum  yer  'Hios 
an'  Westconstants  !  West  damnations  they  be,  the  hull  on 


176  UNCLE  HSHA'S   SHOP. 

'em,  full  o'  lever  'n'  aag  an'  snakes  an'  Injins  an'  all 
God's  cusses  !  Ye'd  better  stay  an'  die  where  ye  growed  ! 
I  hope  ye  won't  die  in  a  month  arter  ye  git  there,  but  ye 
will,  both  on  ye  ;  see  'f  ye  don't  !  'F  ye  don't  shake  the 
skin  off'n  yer  bones  with  the  agur,  the  snakes  '11  bite  ye, 
'n'  'f  the  snakes  don't  bite  ye,  the  Injins  '11  skelp  ye  !" 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas  !"  cried  Lisha,  rubbing  his  bald 
pate,  "  a  'tarnal  sight  o'  satisfaction  they'd  git  a-skelpin' 
me.  But  the'  hain't  no  Injins  tu  hurt  there,  I  tell  ye  !" 

"  Wai,  the'  's  'nough.  The'  's  snakes  'n'  fever  'n' 
aag  ;  they'll  fix  yer  flint,  'f  ye  don't  git  draownded  in  that 
'ere  canawl,  an'  a  turrible  disagreeable,  nasty  place  it  is 
tu  git  draownded  in,  I  s'pose.  I  do'  wanter  hear  ye 
talk  !  Ye  can't  tell  me  nothin'  'baout  it  !  I  done  my 
duty,  an'  gin  ye  fair  warnin',"  and  the  old  Revolutioner 
stamped  off  without  listening  to  a  word  from  them. 

"  Wai,  I  say  for  't,"   said  Aunt  Jerusha,  looking  after 
him,  "  'f  he    don't  een   a'  most  make  a  body  skeered  o' 
goin'  !" 

"  Humph  !"  Lisha  snorted,  contemptuously,  ';  he  do' 
know  nothin'  'baout  it.  He  do'  know  beans  'baout 
anything  'at  is  er  happened  sen'  the  ol'  war." 

One  day  Joel  Bartlett  came  in,  and  after  solemn  deliber 
ation  and  a  more  than  ordinary  puckering  of  his  mouth, 
said,  "  Friends,  Jemimy  an'  me  hes  hed  some  weighty 
consideration  consarnin'  your  givin'  up  here  an'  goin' 
away.  Thee  knows,  Lisher,  at  thy  little  place  fits  in  very 
handy  'long  o'  mine — in  fact,  it  is  parto'  the  original  pitch 
of  ol'  Hezekier  Varney's  tew-hunderd  acre  lot,  an'  is  quite 
desirable.  But  I  hev'  felt  it  bore  in  upon  me  tu  come  an' 
tell  you,  thee  an'  Jerushy,  that  if  you  feel  misgivin's  as  tu 
the  wisdom  o'  breakin'  up  here  an'  goin'  WTest  tu  your 


UNCLE  LISHA'S   SHOP.  177 

son,  I  am  willin'  tu  give  thee  back  thy  deed,  which  it 
hain't  been  sot  in  the  records,  an'  I  am  willin' — yes,  I  am 
willin',''  after  a  little  inward  struggle,  "  tu  du  so  withaout 
no  consideration — only  thee  shall  pay  for  the  drawin'  o' 
the  writin's,  which  is  diffunt  from  what  we  agreed." 

"  No,  Joel,"  Lisha  answered,  "I'm  'bleeged  tu  ye, 
but  aour  minds  was  made  up  tu  start  on,  an'  I  hain't 
a-goin'  tu  play  baby  naow.  We're  goinV 

"  Wai,"  Joel  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  I  felt  as 
'ough  it  was  my  duty  tu  make  thee  this  offer,  an'  naow  I 
feel  clear.  Whatever  comes,  your  Heavenly  Father  '11  be 
as  nigh  tu  ye  in  the  perraries  as  he  hes  ben  in  the  shadder 
o'  the  maountains,"  and  he  went  home  feeling  that  he 
had  done  all  that  his  conscience  demanded  for  its  ease. 

By  and  by  came  the  sad  and  painful  breaking  up  and 
the  auction  sale  of  their  non-portable  goods,  such  house 
hold  gods  as  the  old  clock  that  had  marked,  with  its  slow 
beats,  the  uneventful  and  comfortable  course  of  more  than 
half  their  life  ;  the  big  wheel  and  the  little  wheel  that  had 
both  hummed  many  tunes  to  Aunt  Jerusha's  touch,  and 
were  dear  to  her.  And  so  to  her  was  the  churn,  but  Uncle 
Lisha  saw  it  go  to  a  low  bidder  with  a  feeling  of  relief  in 
final  separation,  and  a  thrill  of  revengeful  pleasure  as  he 
thought  of  the  unhappy  hours  spent  in  pounding  stubborn 
churnings  encased  in  its  red-painted  staves.  It  mitigated 
the  pangs  of  parting  with  them  to  know  that  Sam  Lovel 
had  bought  the  clock  (with  an  inward  resolve  that  it  should 
some  time  resume  its  old  place  in  the  kitchen  corner),  and 
that  the  spinning-wheels  had  gone  to  the  Puringtons. 
The  big  wheel,  Mrs.  Purington  said,  "  'ould  be  handy  for 
Huldy  when  she  went  tu  haousekeepin',  though  the  flax 
wheel  wa'n't  much  'caount,  sen'  everyb'dy  'd  gin  up 


i;8  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP. 

raisin'  flax."  Solon  Briggs  suggested  that  it  would  be  "  a 
valuable  relickt  of  ancient  past  times  tu  Huldy's  future 
pregenitors."  Sam  also  bought  the  shoe-bench,  saying 
that  it  was  a  "  mighty  comfortable  seattu  set  in  an'  smoke, 
with  a  handy  place  for  a  feller's  terbacker,  as  well  as  bein' 
a  good  place  tu  clean  a  gun."  He  was  strongly  tempted 
to  buy  the  favorite  cow,  so  gentle  that  even  Huldah  might 
milk  her,  though  she  never  should,  but  with  the  tear  of  his 
stepmother  before  him,  he  let  the  cow  go  to  Joseph  Hill. 

"  Datdamn  hoi'  long  John  Dark  !"  said  Antoine,  when 
the  giant  of  the  turkey  shoot  bid  off  the  old  horse  after  the 
Canadian  had  gone  beyond  the  limit  of  his  resources  in 
bidding.  '  'F  he  ant  be  for  he,  Ah' 11  have  it  some 
hawse  for  swaup  !  Den  Ah' 11  go  Vairgenn,  an'  prob'ly 
get  tree,  prob'  ly  fave  dollar  for  boot  !  What  dat  John- 
Dark  wan'  come  'way  ov'  here  for  spile  'em  up  my  buy 
dat  hawse,  hein  !" 

"  Why,  Ann  Twine,"  said  Lisha,  "  I'd  ha'  knocked  ol' 
Bob  in  the  head  'fore  I'd  ha'  let  'im  go  tu  a  Canuck  tu 
'buse  an'  starve  !" 

"  Bah  gosh  !  you  call  it  bruse  heem  for  swaup  it  for 
hawse  better  as  he'll  was  ?" 

John  Dart  made  his  way  to  Aunt  Jerusha  and  said  : 
"  Mis'  Peggs,  I'll  take  good  keer  o'  the  ol'  hoss,  an' 
won't  n^ver  drive  'im  fast — 'thaout  't  is  keepin'  up  wi' 
the  percession  tu  fun'als,  which  I'm  hopesin'  won't  come 
often,  'n'  I  won't  never  sell  'im,  ner  give  'im  tu  nob'dy 
only  God  A' mighty — I'll  du  that  when  he  gits  so  's  't  he 
can't  enj'y  airthly  life." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  Mister ?" 

"  John  Dart  is  my  name,  inarm,"  said  the  giant,  bow 
ing  almost  to  the  level  of  her  sun  bonnet. 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  179 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  Mister  Dart,  an'  I'm  dreffle  glad 
'at  Bob  hes  fell  intu  sech  good  hands.  He's  ben  a  faithf  1 
creetur  tu  us,  an'  it's  worried  me  dreffly  thinkin'  o'  what 
might  be  become  on  him." 

The  "  vandew"  was  over  at  last,  and  the  old  couple's 
hold  on  their  old  life  was  loosened  with  sore  wrenchings 
of  their  heartstrings.  Now  that  their  hearthstone  was  cold 
and  the  little  brown  house  was  home  no  longer,  they  tar 
ried  with  Joseph  Hill  during  the  short  time  of  awaiting 
the  day  of  departure.  Lisha  wandered  about  aimlessly, 
uncomfortable  in  idleness  and  continual  wearing  of  his 
best  clothes,  taking  long  looks  at  old  familiar  scenes  that 
he  felt  he  was  soon  to  leave  forever.  He  went  with  Aunt 
Jerusha  to  the  little  hillside  burying-ground,  which  had 
grown  surprisingly  populous  with  dead  since  they  attended 
the  first  burial  there,  awed  then  in  the  strange  presence  of 
death,  who  had  now  become  so  frequent  and  familiar  a 
visitor  that  his  coming  was  but  briefly  noted.  There 
under  the  widespread  canopy  of  the  sumachs  and  among 
the  rank  growth  of  golden-rod  they  bade  a  silent  farewell 
to  the  sunken  graves  of  fathers  and  mothers,  and  the  short 
green  mound  that  so  many  years  ago  had  hidden  from 
their  sight  their  baby  daughter — always  and  forever  a  baby 
daughter  to  them. 

"  An'  naow,  mother,"  said  Lisha,  making  frequent  use 
of  his  "  bendinah"  as  they  turned  away  from  the  quiet 
place  of  everlasting  rest,  "  we've  said  good-by  tu  them  'at's 
nighest  tu  us.  Aour  rhuts  is  putty  nigh  pulled  up." 


XXI. 

THE   DEPARTURE. 

TOWARD  the  end  of  summer  Lisha  and  his  wife  were 
ready  to  begin  their  journey.  The  day  of  departure  had 
come,  and  many  of  their  old  neighbors  had  gathered  at  Jo 
seph  Hill's  to  bid  them  farewell.  Among  these  were  Joel 
Bartlett  and  his  wife  ;  he  with  solemn  words  of  advice  and 
consolation,  she  full  of  kind  thoughtfulness  for  the  com 
fort  of  their  departing  friends,  who,  though  ''world's 
people,"  were  endeared  to  her  through  life-long  neighbor 
hood.  "  I  trust,  Lisher,"  said  Joel,  after  puckering  his  lips 
so  tightly  that  the  boys  who  had  come  to  behold  the  exodus 
thought  the  event  was  to  be  celebrated  by  the  long-deferred 
whistle,  "  'at  thee  is  clear  in  thy  mind  'at  thee  is  a-walkin' 
in  the  way  'at  is  lit  by  the  in'ard  light,  an'  I  hope  the 
path '11  be  made  smooth  an'  pleasant  tu  thy  feet,  an' 
them  o'  thy  companion,  an' — "  '  'F  he  wore  hees 
own  boot?"  Antoine  asked,  in  an  undertone.  And 
Gran'ther  Hill  broke  in  from  his  seat  in  the  doorway, 
shaking  his  cane  at  the  shoemaker — *'  Wai,  it  won't, 
Lisher  !  You  '11  find  it  a  hard  rhud  fer  tu  travil,  I  tell  ye  ! 
A  hard  rhud  fer  tu  travil,  wi'  fever  V  aag,  an'  snakes, 
an'  Injins  !  An'  the  canawl,  an'  all  !  When  ye  git  a 
chance  tu  pint  yer  gun 'tan  Injin,  pint  a  leetle  'fore  he 
does,  and  shoot  tu  kill  !"  And  he  came  down  and  shook 
hands  with  Lisha  and  his  wife. 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  181 

Tom  Hamlin  lurked  shyly  about  the  outer  edge  of  the 
circle,  and  the  man  who  always  asked  questions  was  pres 
ent,  silent,  but  his  face  and  figure  a  standing  interrogation 
point. 

Huldah's  pretty  face  was  hidden  in  Aunt  Jerusha's  sun- 
bonnet,  and  reappeared  with  tear-stained  cheeks,  while  her 
mother  wiped  away  her  own  sympathetic  tears  with  alter 
nate  corners  of  her  apron,  and  her  father  coughed  loudly 
to  cover  the  break  in  his  voice.  And  so  came  farewell  to 
old  friends  and  old  scenes. 

After  the  kindly  fashion  of  those  days,  some  of  their 
neighbors  accompanied  them  to  the  place  where  they 
were  to  embark  in  the  canal-boat  that  would  take  them 
the  length  of  "  Clinton's  big  ditch"  on  their  way. 
Pelatiah  drove  the  lumber  wagon  whereon  was  piled  the 
"  housel  stuff"  reserved  from  the  "vandew. "  Then 
came  a  like  conveyance,  driven  by  Sam  Lovell,  and 
carrying  Lisha  and  Jerusha,  Joe  Hill  and  his  wife,  Solon 
Briggs  and  Antoine,  and  a  day's  provisions  for  the  party. 
They  jolted  over  the  rough  road  and  through  the  little 
hamlet  that  the  forge  and  store  and  tavern  gave  life  to, 
and  then  taking  the  road  along  the  bank  of  the  noisy 
little  river,  the  old  people  turned  their  backs  upon  the 
green  wall  of  the  mountains  and  entered  on  their  long 
journey  westward.  Lisha  was  as  cheerful  as  could  be  ex 
pected  when  his  heart  was  heavy  with  the  sorrow  of  leav 
ing  his  old  home,  and  he  was  suffering  the  discomfort  of 
his  high- collared,  tight-sleeved  best  coat  and  the  weight 
of  his  bell-crowned  hat.  He  pointed  out  the  farm  where 
the  first  settler  of  Danvis  had  "pitched,"  the  hill  where 
Pelatiah' s  grandfather  killed  a  panther,  discoursed  of  the 
changes  that  had  come  since  he  first  knew  the  town,  made 


1 82  UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP. 

some  strained  efforts  at  joking  with  Antoine,  and  talked 
on  and  on  when  he  had  nothing  to  say.  Aunt  Jerusha 
wept  silently  in  the  seclusion  of  her  new  gingham  sun- 
bonnet,  comforting  herself  with  frequent  pinches  of  snuff 
that  afforded  her  an  excuse  for  as  frequent  use  of  her  hand 
kerchief. 

At  noon  they  stopped  to  bait  their  teams  and  eat  their 
lunch  under  some  wayside  trees  and  then  went  on.  In  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  they  entered  the  little  city  that 
marked  the  end  of  the  first  stage  of  the  old  people's  jour 
ney,  and  the  wonders  of  its  few  three-story  buildings,  its 
three  churches,  and  the  court-house  perched  upon  the 
crest  of  a  ledge,  in  which,  Lisha  told  them,  "  the  leegis- 
latur  sot  onct,"  so  dazed  Pelatiah  that  he  nearly  missed 
finding  the  way  to  the  wharf  where  the  canal  packet  lay. 
There  new  wonders  met  his  astonished  gaze.  A  rifle  shot 
up  stream,  the  river  almost  as  wide  as  the  length  of  the 
forge  pond,  the  largest  sheet  of  water  he  had  ever  seen  till 
now,  foamed  and  thundered  down  a  precipice  forty  feet 
high,  and  then  its  vexed  waters  writhed  along  a  deep, 
broad  reach,  past  the  wharves,  where  lay  the  canal-boats 
and  the  little  steamer  that  was  to  tow  them  to  the  lake  and 
then  to  Whitehall. 

Lounging  about  these  strange  immense  craft  were  the 
surly  or  saucy  canal-boatmen,  upon  whom  the  young 
mountaineer  looked  with  awe,  for  they  were  travelled  men 
who  must  have  seen  nearly  all  of  the  great  world,  having 
been  more  than  once  to  the  end  of  the  canal  and  back 
again,  and  some,  it  was  said,  had  even  beheld  the  wonders 
and  glories  of  that  almost  fabulous  city  by  the  sea,  New 
York. 

"In   an   aiily  day,"  said  Lisha,  "  some  o'  the  Yorkers 


UNCLE   LISHA'S   SHOP.  183 

built  'em  a  gris'  mill  on  them  falls,  an'  Ethan  Allen  an' 
his  Green  Maountin  Boys  come  an'  drove  'em  off  an' 
hove  the  millstuns  over  the  falls,  or  some  says  inter  a  big 
pothole  nigh  the  top,  'n'  't  they're  a  layin'  in  the  bot 
tom  on't  naow.  Right  along  here  where  these  'ere  wharls 
an'  stores  be,  McDonner's  ships  was  built  time  o'  the 
last  war  ;  ships  a  gre'  d'l  bigger  'n  them  canawl  boats  be, 
Peltier.  I  worked  here  a-haulin'  timber  to  build  'em  on, 
an'  'twas  hurryin'  times,  I  tell  ye,  with  the  British 
threatenin'  the  hull  time.  We  hauled  a  big  stick  here 
aouten  the  woods,  for  a  keel,  it  was,  wi'  three  yoke  o' 
oxen,  an'  at  it  the  ship  carpenters  went  full  chisel,  an'  in 
six  weeks  I  b'lieve,  it  wa'n't  no  more,  from  the  day  't 
was  cud  daowrr,  the  ship  was  all  ready  to  go  int'  the 
water!  That's  the  way  they  did  things  in  them  times. 
A  spell  arter  that  the  British  come  in  their  gunboats  to 
destr'y  the  'Merican  vessels  here,  but  they  didn't  git  no 
furder  'n  the  macuth  o'  the  crick,  for  aour  folks  hed  a 
little  fort  there,  a  leftenant  name  o'  Cassin'  commandin' 
on't,  an'  they  drove  the  British  boats  off.  They  call  it 
Fort  Cassin'  yit,  but 't  ain't  nothin'  but  some  banks  o' 
airth,  an'  wa'n't  then.  When  aour  ships  got  all  ready 
they  went  off  int'  the  lake,  an'  bimeby  come  Plattsburg 
fight.  We  all  rallied  aout,  an'  th'  was  lots  o'  Green 
Maountin  Boys  tu  it,  me'mongst  the  rest  on  'em,  skeered 
'nough,  but  no  notion  o'  runnin'.  We  fit  an'  fit  on 
land,  an'  the  ships  fit  on  the  water,  till  arter  a  good  spell 
aour  ships  licked  their' n,  an'  then  the  British  we  was 
fightin'  run,  an'  I  tell  ye  the  backs  o'  their  'tarnal  red  cuts 
was  a  dum  sight  the  best  lookin'  side  on  'em  't  we'd  seen 
yit.  That's  all  the  folks-fightin'  't  ever  I  done,  or  ever 
wan'  tu.  That  'ere  big  stun  buildin'  over  y under  where 


1 84  UNCLE    LISHA'S  SHOP. 

the  flag  's  a- fly  in'  is  the  gov'ment  a'snal.  The's  muskits 
an'  cannon  'nough  in  it  tu  rig  aout  a  hull  army.  'N' 
there  !  that  pussy  ol'  red-nosed  feller  comin'  a  hossback 
'long  the  road's  the  major 't  bosses  it.  Nothin'  tu  du 
but  draw  his  pay,  fo'  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  I  s'pose, 
an'  drink  ol'  Jamaky  sperits  an'  sweet  wine,  an'  loaf 
'raound." 

With  such  discourse  Lisha  entertained  his  friends  till 
nightfall,  when  he  and  Jerusha  went  to  their  berths  in  the 
packet  and  they  to  their  inn,  excepting  Antoine,  who  hav 
ing  dug  some  worms,  and  borrowed  a  pole  and  line  of  a 
compatriot,  went  fishing  for  bullpouts. 

Next  morning  came  the  sorrowful  leave-taking,  and  after 
much  bustle  and  shouting  and  swearing  by  the  captains 
and  crews  of  the  steamboat  and  canal  boats,  wherein  the 
bold  mariners  of  the  canal  having  had  the  practice  and  ex 
perience  of  greater  and  more  frequent  opportunities,  greatly 
outdid  their  rivals,  the  little  flotilla  got  under  weigh.  The 
fussy  little  steamer  coughed  and  churned  its  way  down  the 
beautiful  river,  and  as  it  dragged  the  packet  out  of  sight 
behind  a  wooded  bend,  the  sturdy  figure  of  the  old  shoe 
maker  was  seen  standing  in  the  stern  beside  the  bowed 
form  of  his  wife  waving  a  last  farewell  with  his  red 
"  bendina. " 

'  There  they  go,"  said  Sam  Lovel,  turning  sadly 
away.  '  There  they  go,  julluk  tew  ol'  trees  tore  up  by 
the  ruts  an'  driftin'  daown  stream." 


XXII. 


ONE  day,  a  little  more  than  a  year  later,  when  the  blue 
September  sky  arched  the  valley,  and  the  afternoon  sun 
shone  warm  into  it,  and  the  bees  were  busy  among  the 
asters  and  golden-rods  in  the  little  graveyard  that  over 
looked  Uncle  Lisha's  old  homestead,  Sam  Lovel  came  push 
ing  his  way  slowly  through  the  thicket  of  sumachs.  Under 
his  arm  he  carried  his  bee-box,  which,  after  looking  about 
him  a  moment,  he  set  upon  the  top  of  a  little  gravestone. 
When  he  had  watched  for  a  minute  through  the  glazed  lid 
the  two  or  three  little  prisoners  his  box  held,  he  carefully 
removed  the  cover  and  backed  a  few  paces  away.  His  eye 
caught  the  moss-grown  inscription  on  the  stone — "  Jerusha, 
daughter  of  E.  and  J.  Peggs  ;  departed  this  life" — he  had 
to  bend  down  the  heads  of  everlasting  to  read  the  re 
mainder —  "Sept.  the  10,  18 — 

He  reaped  away  the  everlastings  with  his  knife  and 
cleaned  the  moss  from  the  letters  before  he  took  time  to 
notice  that  one  of  his  bees  had  climbed  to  the  edge 
of  the  box  and  taken  wing,  circling  a  few  feet  above 
it,  and  then  sailed  straight  toward  the  house  ;  and  then 
another  and  another  arose  and  wont  off  in  the  same  course. 

"Wai,  naow,  that's  cur'ous,  hain't  it,  Drive?"  said 
Sam,  addressing  his  dog,  who  was  making  himself  com 
fortable  on  the  grass  near  him,  and  now  answered  his 


1 86  UNCLE   LI  SKA'S   SHOP. 

master  with  a  lazy  beat  of  his  tail.  Sam  had  hardly  got 
his  pipe  alight  and  begun  to  take  his  ease  beside  the  dog, 
when  back  came  the  bees  with  some  companions  and 
settled  into  the  box. 

"  All  light,"  said  Sam.  "  Le's  move  up/'  and  going 
cautiously  to  it,  he  shut  the  lid,  tapped  the  side  till  the 
bees  arose  from  the  comb  in  the  bottom,  when  he  shut  the 
lower  slide,  took  up  the  box  and  moved  on  in  the  direc 
tion  the  bees  had  taken  to  within  a  lew  rods  of  the  house. 
Then  he  opened  the  slide  and  then  the  cover,  and  when 
the  bees  had  filled  themselves  again,  they  sailed  away  with 
their  freight  as  before.  They  soon  returned  and  weie 
again  imprisoned  till  Sam  had  set  the  box  on  one  of  the 
posts  of  the  garden-fence.  Again  he  gave  them  their 
liberty,  and  in  ten  minutes  a  hundred  bees  were  buzzing 
to  and  fro  between  the  box  and  a  knot-hole  high  up  in  the 
gable  of  the  shop. 

'  Yes,  sir/'  said  Sam,  laughing  softly,  "  the's  a  swarm 
under  the  cla'b'rds  o'  the  shop,  jes'  as  sure  's  your  name 
's  Drive  !  Wai,  they  c'n  stay  there  for  all  o'  me." 

He  went  around  to  the  front  of  the  house,  stepping 
carefully  lest  he  should  tread  on  Aunt  Jerusha's  posies, 
uncared  for  now  and  running  wild  :  China-asters,  sweet- 
williams,  and  pansies  struggling  in  a  matted  tangle  of 
May- weed,  posy  beans  and  morning-glories  wandering 
away  from  the  posts  of  the  stoop  to  climb  the  tall  pig 
weeds.  Two  squirrels  stopped  chasing  each  other  over 
the  roof  and  along  the  rattling  clapboards  to  scoff  at  the 
intruder,  and  a  woodchuck  sounded  his  querulous  whistle 
and  scuttled  under  the  shop  as  Sam  approached  it.  The 
door  was  half  open,  and  he  almost  expected  to  hear  the 
hearty  hail  of  his  old  friend  ;  but  a  chance-sown  poppy 


UNCLE   LISIIA'S   SHOP. 


I87 


growing  in  a  crack  of  the  sill,  and  the  fallen  petals  of  its 
last  flower  withering  undisturbed  on  the  worn  threshold, 
told  mutely  how  long  it  had  been  untrodden  by  the  foot 
of  man.  When  Sam  looked  into  the  empty  shop,  where 
nothing  was  left  to  tell  of  its  former  use  but  a  faint  wait  of 
the  old  familiar  odor,  the  sconce  and  its  mouse-nibbled 
candle-end,  a  broken  last  and  a  rubbishy  heap  of  leather 
scraps,  a  partridge  sprang  from  the  floor  and,  hurtling 
through  the  open  window,  went  sailing  away  to  the  woods. 
"The  fog  o'  the  ol'  stories  hangs 'raound  here  yet," 
Sam  soliloquized,  "  an'  wild  creeturs  takes  as  nat'ral  as  tu 
the  woods  tu  Uncle  Lisher's  shop.  Come,  dawg." 


SAM    LOVEL'S  CAMPS. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF   "UNCLE   LISHA'S  SHOP.' 


In  the  spring  following  Uncle  Lisha's  departure  for  Ohio, 
Sam  Lovel,  having  taken  the  old  man's  advice  into  serious 
consideration,  prepared  his  musk-rat  traps,  and  having  built 
a  rude  but  cosy  shelter  on  the  Slang,  went  into  camp.  The 
Canuck  Antoine  was  with  him  as  partner  and  instructor,  and 
later  came  Pelatiah,  bringing  the  hound  Drive  and  the  famous 
weapon  old  Ore  Bed.  In  the  series  of  chapters  entitled  "  Sam 
Lovel's  Camps,"  which  followed  the  publication  of  "  Uncle 
Lisha's  Shop,"  in  the  Forest  and  Stream,  readers  of  that  journal 
were  given  an  opportunity  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  Spring 
Camp  on  the  Slang.  Still  a  third  series,  descriptive  of  Sam 
Lovel's  Autumn  Camps,  is  now  (September,  1887)  in  prepara 
tion  for  the  Forest  and  Stream.  The  two  camp  series  will  be 
published  in  book  form,  in  one  volume,  uniform  in  style  and 
price  with  "  Uncle  Lisha's  Shop." 


PRICE ..$r.oo. 


SENT,    POSTPAID,    BY 

FOREST   AND    STREAM    PUBLISHING   CO., 
40  Park  Row,  New  York. 


Descriptive  catalogue  of  FOREST  AND  STREAM  Publications  sent  free 
on  application. 


R663 
un 


RO  tin  son,  H. 
Uncle  Lie 


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